GREAT 

GOD 

SUCCESS 


GMHAM  PHILLIPS 


I3RARY 

IIVERSITY  OF 

IAL.IFORNIA 
iNTA  CRUZ 


'3531 
Hr 

Gel 


THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS 


The    Great 
God  Success 

A  NOVEL 


By 
JOHN  GRAHAM,  f?seuc/-) 

(DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS) 


t 


GROSSET   &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS         ::        NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
BY  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE  .        .      i 

II.  THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS    .    16 

III.  A  PARK  Row  CELEBRITY         .        .    26 

IV.  IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA      .        .    34 
V.    ALICE 48 

VI.  IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND    .        .    61 

VII.  A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT        .    73 

VIII.  A  STRUGGLE  FOR  SELF-CONTROL     .    82 

IX.  AMBITION  AWAKENS         .        .        .89 

X.  THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE       .        .    98 

XI.    TRESPASSING 116 

XII.  MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH    .  125 

XIII.  RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS     .        .136 

XIV.  THE    NEWS-RECORD   GETS  A  NEW 

EDITOR 155 

XV.  YELLOW  JOURNALISM        .       .       .  164 

XVI.  MR.  STOKELY  is  TACTLESS      .       .178 

XVII.  A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING    .        .  189 

XVIII.  HOWARD  EXPLAINS  His  MACHINE  .  198 

XIX.  "I  MUST  BE  RICH."        .       .       .213 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XX. 

ILLUSION     

PACK 

XXI. 

WAVERING  

•     234 

XXII. 

THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE 

.     245 

XXIII. 

EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING 

.      254 

XXIV. 

"  MR.  VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH."  . 

.     265 

XXV. 

THE  PROMISED  LAND 

.     272 

XXVI. 

,      280 

XXVII. 

,      286 

XXVIII. 

SUCCESS      

The  Great  God  Success. 
I. 

THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE. 

"  ON  your  college  paper,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  wrote  even  a  letter  to  the  editor." 

"  Took  prizes  for  essays  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  wrote  if  I  could  help  it." 

"But  you  like  to  write?" 

"  I'd  like  to  learn  to  write." 

"You  say  you  are  two  months  out  of  college — wUat 
college?" 

"  Yale." 

"  Hum — I  thought  Yale  men  went  into  something 
commercial ;  law  or  banking  or  railroads.  '  Leave 
hope  of  fortune  behind,  ye  who  enter  here  *  is  over 
the  door  of  this  profession." 

"  I  haven't  the  money-making  instinct." 

"  We  pay  fifteen  dollars  a  week  at  the  start." 

"Couldn't  you  make  it  twenty?  " 

The  Managing  Editor  of  the  News-Record  turned 
slowly  in  his  chair  until  his  broad  chest  was  full-front 
toward  the  young  candidate  for  the  staff.  He  lowered 


2  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

his  florid  face  slowly  until  his  double  chin  swelled 
out  over  his  low  "  stick-up  "  collar.  Then  he  grad 
ually  raised  his  eyelids  until  his  amused  blue  eyes 
were  looking  over  the  tops  of  his  glasses,  straight  into 
Howard's  eyes. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Why  should  we  ?  " 

Howard's  grey  eyes  showed  embarrassment  and  he 
flushed  to  the  line  of  his  black  hair  which  was  so 
smoothly  parted  in  the  middle.  "  Well — you  see — - 
the  fact  is — I  need  twenty  a  week.  My  expenses  are 
arranged  on  that  scale.  I'm  not  clever  at  money 
matters.  I'm  afraid  I'd  get  in  a  mess  with  only 
fifteen." 

"  My  dear  young  man,"  said  Mr.  King,  "  I  started 
here  at  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  And  I  had  a  wife  ; 
and  the  first  baby  was  coming." 

"  Yes,  but  your  wife  was  an  energetic  woman.  She 
stood  right  beside  you  and  worked  too.  Now  I  have 
only  myself." 

Mr.  King  raised  his  eyebrows  and  became  a  rosier 
red.  He  was  evidently  preparing  to  rebuke  this 
audacious  intrusion  into  his  private  affairs  by  a 
stranger  whose  card  had  been  handed  to  him  not  ten 
minutes  before.  But  Howard's  tone  and  manner  were 
simple  and  sincere.  And  they  happened  to  bring  into 
Mr.  King's  mind  a  rush  of  memories  of  his  youth  and 
his  wife.  She  had  married  him  on  faith.  They  had 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.  3 

come  to  New  York  fifteen  years  before,  he  to  get  a 
place  as  reporter  on  the  News-Record,  she  to  start  a 
boarding-house  ;  he  doubting  and  trembling,  she  with 
courage  and  confidence  for  two.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  closed  his  eyes  and  opened  the  book  of 
memory  at  the  place  where  the  leaves  most  easily  fell 
apart : 

He  is  coming  home  at  one  in  the  morning,  worn 
out,  sick  at  heart  from  the  day's  bufferings.  As  he 
puts  his  key  into  the  latch,  the  door  opens.  There 
stands  a  handsome  girl ;  her  face  is  flushed  ;  her  eyes 
are  bright ;  her  lips  are  held  up  for  him  to  kiss ;  she 
shows  no  trace  of  a  day  that  began  hours  before  his 
and  has  been  a  succession  of  exasperations  and  humili 
ations  against  which  her  sensitive  nature,  trained  in 
the  home  of  her  father,  a  distinguished  up-the-state 
Judge,  gives  her  no  protection,  "  Victory,"  she 
whispers,  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  her  head  upon 
his  coat  collar.  "  Victory  !  We  are  seventy-two 
cents  ahead  on  the  week,  and  everything  paid  up  !  " 

Mr.  King  opened  his  eyes — they  had  been  closed 
less  than  five  seconds.  "Well,  let  it  be  twenty — 
though  just  why  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  And  we'll 
give  you  a  four  weeks'  trial.  When  will  you  begin  ?  " 

"  Now,"  answered  the  young  man,  glancing  about 
the  room.  "  And  I  shall  try  to  show  that  I  appreciate 
your  consideration,  whether  I  deserve  it  or  not,'M 


4  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

It  was  a  large  bare  room,  low  of  ceiling.  Across 
one  end  were  five  windows  overlooking  from  a  great 
height  the  tempest  that  rages  about  the  City  Hall 
day  and  night  with  few  lulls  and  no  pauses.  Mr. 
King's  roll-top  desk  was  at  the  first  window.  Under 
each  of  the  other  windows  was  a  broad  flat  table  desk 
— for  copy-readers.  At  the  farthest  of  these  sat  the 
City  Editor — thin,  precise-looking,  with  yellow  skin, 
hollow  cheeks,  ragged  grey-brown  moustache,  ragged 
scant  grey-brown  hair  and  dark  brown  eyes.  He 
looked  nervously  tired  and,  because  brown  was  his 
prevailing  shade,  dusty.  He  rose  as  Mr.  King  came 
with  young  Howard. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Bowring,  is  a  young  man  from  Yale. 
He  wishes  you  to  teach  him  how  to  write.  Mr.  How 
ard,  Mr.  Bowring.  I  hope  you  gentlemen  will  get  on 
comfortably  together." 

Mr.  King  went  back  to  his  desk.  Mr.  Bowring  and 
Howard  looked  each  at  the  other.  Mr.  Bowring 
smiled,  with  good-humour,  without  cordiality.  "  Let 
me  see,  where  shall  we  put  you  ?  "  And  his  glance 
wandered  along  the  rows  of  sloping  table-desks — those 
nearer  the  windows  lighted  by  daylight ;  those  farther 
away,  by  electric  lamps.  Even  on  that  cool,  breezy 
August  afternoon  the  sunlight  and  fresh  air  did  not 
penetrate  far  into  the  room. 

"  Do  you  see  the  young  man  with  the  beautiful  fair 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.  5 

moustache,"  said  Mr.  Bowring,  "  toiling  away  in  his 
shirt-sleeves — there  ?  " 

"  Near  the  railing  at  the  entrance?  " 

"  Precisely.  I  think  I  will  put  you  next  him." 
Mr.  Bowring  touched  a  button  on  his  desk  and 
presently  an  office  boy — a  mop  of  auburn  curls,  a  pert 
face  and  gangling  legs  in  knickerbockers — hurried  up 
with  a  "Yes,  Sir?" 

"  Please  tell  Mr.  Kittredge  that  I  would  like  to 
speak  to  him  and — please  scrape  your  feet  along  the 
floor  as  little  as  possible." 

The  boy  smiled,  walking  away  less  as  if  he  were  try- 
ing  to  terrorize  park  pedestrians  by  a  rush  on  roller 
skates.  Kittredge  and  Howard  were  made  acquainted 
and  went  toward  their  desks  together.  "  A  few 
moments — if  you  will  excuse  me — and  I'm  done,"  said 
Kittredge  motioning  Howard  into  the  adjoining  chair 
as  he  sat  and  at  once  bent  over  his  work. 

Howard  watched  him  with  interest,  admiration  and 
envy.  The  reporter  was  perhaps  twenty-five  years 
old — fair  of  hair,  fair  of  skin,  goodlooking  in  a  pretty 
way.  His  expression  was  keen  and  experienced  yet 
too  self-complacent  to  be  highly  intelligent.  He  was 
rapidly  covering  sheet  after  sheet  of  soft  white  paper 
with  bold,  loose  hand-writing.  Howard  noticed  that 
at  the  end  of  each  sentence  he  made  a  little  cross  with 
a  circle  about  it,  and  that  he  began  each  paragraph 


6  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

with  a  paragraph  sign.  Presently  he  scrawled  a  big 
double  cross  in  the  centre  of  the  sheet  under  the  last 
line  of  writing  and  gathered  up  his  sheets  in  the  num 
bered  order.  "  Done,  thank  God,"  he  said.  "  And  I 
hope  they  won't  butcher  it." 

"  Do  you  send  it  to  be  put  in  type  ?  "  asked  How 
ard. 

"  No,"  Kittredge  answered  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I 
hand  it  in  to  Mr.  Bowring — the  City  Editor,  you 
know.  And  when  the  copyreaders  come  at  six,  it  will 
be  turned  over  to  one  of  them.  He  reads  it,  cuts  it 
down  if  necessary,  and  writes  headlines  for  it.  Then 
it  goes  upstairs  to  the  composing  room — see  the  box, 
the  little  dumb-waiter,  over  there  in  the  wall  ? — well, 
it  goes  up  by  that  to  the  floor  above  where  they  set 
the  type  and  make  up  the  forms." 

"  I'm  a  complete  ignoramus,"  said  Howard,  "  I 
hope  you'll  not  mind  my  trying  to  find  out  things.  I 
hope  I  shall  not  bore  you." 

"  Glad  to  help  you,  I'm  sure.  I  had  to  go  through 
this  two  years  ago  when  I  came  here  from  Princeton." 

Kittredge  "  turned  in  "  his  copy  and  returned  to  his 
seat  beside  Howard. 

"  What  were  you  writing  about,  if  I  may  ask  ?  "  in 
quired  Howard. 

"About  some  snakes  that  came  this  morning  in  a 
*  tramp '  from  South  America.  One  of  them,  a  boa 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.  7 

constrictor,  got  loose  and  coiled  around  a  windlass. 
The  cook  was  passing  and  it  caught  him.  He  fainted 
with  fright  and  the  beast  squeezed  him  to  death.  It's 
a  fine  story — lots  of  amusing  and  dramatic  details.  I 
wrote  it  for  a  column  and  I  think  they  won't  cut  it.  I 
hope  not,  anyhow.  I  need  the  money." 

"  You  are  paid  by  the  column  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I'm  on  space— what  they  call  a  space 
writer.  If  a  man  is  of  any  account  here  they  gradu 
ally  raise  him  to  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  and  then 
put  him  on  space.  That  means  that  he  will  make  any 
where  from  forty  to  a  hundred  a  week,  or  perhaps 
more  at  times.  The  average  for  the  best  is  about 
eighty." 

"  Eighty  dollars  a  week,"  thought  Howard.  "  Fifty- 
two  times  eighty  is  forty-one  hundred  and  sixty. 
Four  thousand  a  year,  counting  out  two  weeks  for 
vacation."  To  Howard  it  seemed  wealth  at  the  limit 
of  imagination.  If  he  could  make  so  much  as  that ! — 
he  who  had  grave  doubts  whether,  no  matter  how 
hard  he  worked,  he  would  ever  wrench  a  living  from 
the  world. 

Just  then  a  seedy  young  man  with  red  hair  and  a 
red  beard  came  through  the  gate  in  the  railing,  nodded 
to  Kittredge  and  went  to  a  desk  well  up  toward  the 
daylight  end  of  the  room. 

"  That's  the  best  of  'em  all,"  said  Kittredge  in  alow 


8  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

tone.  "  His  name  is  Sewell.  He's  a  Harvard  man — 
Harvard  and  Heidelberg.  But  drink  !  Ye  gods,  how 
he  does  drink!  His  wife  died  last  Christmas — practi 
cally  starvation.  Sewell  disappeared — frightful  bust. 
A  month  afterward  they  found  him  under  an  assumed 
name  over  on  Blackwell's  Island,  doing  three  months 
for  disorderly  conduct.  He  wrote  a  Christmas  carol 
while  his  wife  was  dying.  It  began  "  Merrily  over  the 
Snow  "  and  went  on  about  light  hearts  and  youth  and 
joy  and  all  that — you  know,  the  usual  thing.  When 
he  got  the  money,  she  didn't  need  it  or  anything  else 
in  her  nice  quiet  grave  over  in  Long  Island  City.  So 
he  '  blew  in  '  the  money  on  a  wake." 

Sewell  was  coming  toward  them.  Kittredge  called 
out :  "  Was  it  a  good  story,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Simply  great !  You  ought  to  have  seen  the 
room.  Only  the  bed  and  the  cook-stove  and  a  few 
dishes  on  a  shelf — everything  else  gone  to  the  pawn 
shop.  The  man  must  have  killed  the  children  first. 
They  lay  side  by  side  on  the  bed,  each  with  its  hands 
folded  on  its  chest — suppose  the  mother  did  that  ; 
and  each  little  throat  was  cut  from  ear  to  ear — suppose 
the  father  did  that.  Then  he  dipped  his  paint  brush 
in  the  blood  and  daubed  on  the  wall  in  big  scrawling 
letters:  *  Truere  is  no  God  !  '  Then  he  took  his  wife 
in  his  arms,  stabbed  her  to  the  heart  and  cut  his  own 
throat.  And  there  they  lay,  his  arms  about  her,  his 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.  9 

cheek  against  hers,  dead.  It  was  murder  as  a  fine  art. 
Gad,  I  wish  I  could  write." 

Kittredge  introduced  Howard — "a  Yale  man — just 
came  on  the  paper." 

"  Entering  the  profession  ?  Well,  they  say  of  the 
other  professions  that  there  is  always  room  at  the  top. 
Journalism  is  just  the  reverse.  The  room  is  all  at  the 
bottom — easy  to  enter,  hard  to  achieve,  impossible  to 
leave.  It  is  all  bottom,  no  top."  Sewell  nodded, 
smiled  attractively  in  spite  of  his  swollen  face  and  his 
unsightly  teeth,  and  went  back  to  his  work. 

"  He's  sober/'  said  Kittredge  when  he  was  out  of 
hearing,  "  so  his  story  is  pretty  sure  to  be  the  talk  of 
Park  Row  to-morrow." 

Howard  was  astonished  at  the  cheerful,  businesslike 
point  of  view  of  these  two  educated  and  apparently 
civilised  young  men  as  to  the  tragedies  of  life.  He 
had  shuddered  at  Kittredge's  story  of  the  man 
squeezed  to  death  by  the  snake.  Sewell's  story,  so 
graphically  outlined,  filled  him  with  horror,  made  it 
a  struggle  for  him  to  conceal  his  feelings. 

"  I  suppose  you  must  see  a  lot  of  frightful  things," 
he  suggested. 

"That's  our  business.  You  soon  get  used  to  it,  just 
as  a  doctor  does.  You  learn  to  look  at  life  from  the 
purely  professional  standpoint.  Of  course  you  must 
feel  in  order  to  write.  But  you  must  not  feel  so 


io  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

keenly  that  you  can't  write.  You  have  to  remembei 
always  that  you're  not  there  to  cheer  or  sympathise  01 
have  emotions,  but  only  to  report,  to  record.  You  tel 
what  your  eyes  see.  You'll  soon  get  so  that  you  car 
and  will  make  good  stones  out  of  your  own  calama 
ties." 

"  Is  that  a  portrait  of  the  editor?"  asked  Howard 
pointing  to  a  grimed  oil-painting,  the  only  relief  tc 
the  stretch  of  cracked  and  streaked  white  wall  excepl 
a  few  ragged  maps. 

"  That — oh,  that  is  old  man  Stone — the  '  great  con 
denser/  He's  there  for  a  double  purpose,  as  ar 
example  of  what  a  journalist  should  be  and  as  a  warn 
ing  of  what  a  journalist  comes  to.  After  twenty 
years  of  fine  work  at  crowding  more  news  in  gooc 
English  into  one  column  than  any  other  editor  coulc 
get  in  bad  English  into  four  columns,  he  was  dis 
charged  for  drunkenness.  Soon  afterwards  he  walkec 
off  the  end  of  a  dock  one  night  in  a  fog.  At  least  il 
was  said  that  there  was  a  fog  and  that  he  was  drunk, 
I  have  my  doubts." 

"  Cheerful !  I  have  not  been  in  the  profession  ar 
hour  but  I  have  already  learned  something  verj 
valuable." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Kittredge,  "  that  it's  a  good 
profession  to  get  out  of?" 

"  No.     But  that  bad  habits  will  not  help  a  man  to  c 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.          li 

career  in  journalism  any  more  than  in  any  other  pro. 
fession." 

"Career?"  smiled  Kittredge,  resenting  Howard's 
good-humoured  irony  and  putting  on  a  supercilious 
look  that  brought  out  more  strongly  the  insignificance 
of  his  face.  "  Journalism  is  not  a  career.  It  is  either 
a  school  or  a  cemetery.  A  man  may  use  it  as  a  step 
ping-stone  to  something  else.  But  if  he  sticks  to  it, 
he  finds  himself  an  old  man,  dead  and  done  for  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  years  before  he's  buried." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  doesn't  attract  a  great  many  men 
who  have  a  little  talent  and  fancy  that  they  have 
much.  I  wonder  if  it  does  not  disappoint  their  vanity 
rather  than  their  merit." 

"  That  sounds  well,"  replied  Kittredge,  "  and  there's 
some  truth  in  it.  But,  believe  me,  journalism  is  the 
dragon  that  demands  the  annual  sacrifice  of  youth. 
It  will  have  only  youth.  Why  am  I  here  ?  Why  are 
you  here  ?  Because  we  are  young,  have  a  fresh,  a  new 
point  of  view.  As  soon  as  we  get  a  little  older,  we 
shall  be  stale  and,  though  still  young  in  years,  we  must 
step  aside  for  young  fellows  with  new  ideas  and  anew 
point  of  view." 

"  But  why  should  not  one  have  always  new  ideas, 
always  a  new  point  of  view  ?  Why  should  one  expect 
to  escape  the  penalties  of  stagnation  in  journalism 
when  one  can't  escape  them  in  any  other  profession  ?  " 


12  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  But  who  has  new  ideas  all  the  time  ?  The  average 
successful  man  has  at  most  one  idea  and  makes  a 
whole  career  out  of  it.  Then  there  are  the  tempta« 
tions." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Kittredge  flushed  slightly  and  answered  in  a  more 
serious  tone : 

"  We  must  work  while  others  amuse  themselves  or 
sleep.  We  must  sleep  while  others  are  at  work. 
That  throws  us  out  of  touch  with  the  whole  world  of 
respectability  and  regularity.  When  we  get  done  at 
night,  wrought  up  by  the  afternoon  and  evening  of 
this  gambling  with  our  brains  and  nerves  as  the 
stake,  what  is  open  to  us  ?  " 

"  That  is  true,"  saAd  Howard.  "  There  are  the  all- 
night  saloons  and — the  like." 

"  And  if  we  wish  society,  what  society  is  open  to 
us?  What  sort  of  young  women  are  waiting  to  enter 
tain  us  at  one,  two,  three  o'clock  in  the  morning? 
Why,  I  have  not  made  a  call  in  a  year.  And  I  have 
not  seen  a  respectable  girl  of  my  acquaintance  in  at 
least  that  time,  except  once  or  twice  when  I  happened 
to  have  assignments  that  took  me  near  Fifth  Avenue 
in  the  afternoon." 

"  Mr.  Kittredge,  Mr.  Bowring  wishes  to  speak  to 
you,"  an  office  boy  said  and  Kittredge  rose.  As  he 
went,  he  put  his  hand  on  Howard's  shoulder  and  said : 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.          13 

"  No,  I  am  getting  out  of  it  as  fast  as  ever  I  can. 
I'm  writing  books." 

"  Kittredge,"  thought  Howard,  "  I  wonder,  is  this 
Henry  Jennings  Kittredge,  whose  stories  are  on  all 
the  news  stands  ?  "  He  saw  an  envelope  on  the  floor 
at  his  feet.  The  address  was  "  Henry  Jennings  Kit 
tredge,  Esq." 

When  Kittredge  came  back  for  his  coat,  Howard 
said  in  a  tone  of  frank  admiration  :  "  Why,  I  didn't 
know  you  were  the  Kittredge  that  everybody  is  talk 
ing  about.  You  certainly  have  no  cause  for  complaint." 

Kittredge  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "At  fifteen 
cents  a  copy,  I  have  to  sell  ten  thousand  copies  before 
I  get  enough  to  live  on  for  four  months.  And  you'd 
be  surprised  how  much  reputation  and  how  little 
money  a  man  can  make  out  of  a  book.  Don't  be  dis 
tressed  because  they  keep  you  here  with  nothing  to 
do  but  wonder  how  you'll  have  the  courage  to  face 
the  cashier  on  pay  day.  It's  the  system.  Your 
chance  will  come." 

It  was  three  days  before  Howard  had  a  chance. 
On  a  Sunday  afternoon  the  Assistant  City  Editor 
who  was  in  charge  of  the  City  Desk  for  the  day  sent 
him  up  to  the  Park  to  write  a  descriptive  story  of  the 
crowds.  "Try  to  get  a  new  point  of  view,"  he  said, 
"  and  let  yourself  loose.  There's  usually  plenty  of 
room  in  Monday's  paper." 


14  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Howard  wandered  through  the  Central  Park  for 
two  hours,  struggling  for  the  "  new  point  of  view  "  of 
the  crowds  he  saw  there — these  monotonous  millions, 
he  thought,  lazily  drinking  at  a  vast  trough  of  country 
air  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  He  planned  an  article 
carefully  as  he  dined  alone  at  the  Casino.  He  went 
down  to  the  office  early  and  wrote  diligently — about 
two  thousand  words.  When  he  had  finished,  the 
Night  City  Editor  told  him  that  he  might  go  as  there 
would  be  nothing  more  that  night. 

He  was  in  the  street  at  seven  the  next  morning. 
As  he  walked  along  with  a  News-Record,  bought  at 
the  first  news-stand,  he  searched  every  page:  first, 
the  larger  "  heads  " — such  a  long  story  would  call  for 
a  "  big  head  ;  "  then  the  smaller  "  heads  " — they  may 
have  been  crowded  and  have  had  to  cut  it  down  ;  then 
the  single-line  "  heads  " — surely  they  found  a  "  stick 
ful  "  or  so  worth  printing. 

At  last  he  found  it.  A  dozen  items  in  the  smallest 
type,  agate,  were  grouped  under  the  general  heading 
"  City  Jottings  "  at  the  end  of  an  inside  column  of  an 
inside  page.  The  first  of  these  City  Jottings  was  two 
lines  in  length : 

"  The  millions  were  in  the  Central  Park  yesterday,  lazily  drink 
ing  at  that  vast  trough  of  country  air  in  the  heart  of  the  city." 

As  he  entered  the  office  Howard  looked  appealingly 
and  apologetically  at  the  boy  on  guard  at  the  railing 


THE  CANDIDATE  FROM  YALE.          15 

and  braced  himself  to  receive  the  sneering  frown  of 
the  City  Editor  and  to  bear  the  covert  smiles  of  his 
fellow  reporters.  But  he  soon  saw  that  no  one  had 
observed  his  mighty  spring  for  a  foothold  and  his 
ludicrous  miss  and  fall. 

"  Had  anything  in  yet  ?  "  Kittredge  inquired  casu 
ally,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  wrote  a  column  and  a  half  yesterday  and  I  found 
two  lines  among  the  City  Jottings,"  replied  Howard, 
reddening  but  laughing. 

"  The  first  story  I  wrote  was  cut  to  three  lines  but 
they  got  a  libel  suit  on  it." 


II. 

THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS. 

AT  the  end  of  six  weeks,  the  City  Editor  called 
Howard  up  to  the  desk  and  asked  him  to  seat  himself. 
He  talked  in  a  low  tone  so  that  the  Assistant  City 
Editor,  reading  the  newspapers  at  a  near-by  desk, 
could  not  hear. 

"  We  like  you,  Mr.  Howard."  Mr.  Bowring  spoke 
slowly  and  with  a  carefulness  in  selecting  words  that 
indicated  embarrassment.  "  And  we  have  been  im 
pressed  by  your  earnestness.  But  we  greatly  fear 
that  you  are  not  fitted  for  this  profession.  You  write 
well  enough,  but  you  do  not  seem  to  get  the  news 
paper — the  news — idea.  So  we  feel  that  in  justice  to 
you  and  to  ourselves  we  ought  to  let  you  know  where 
you  stand.  If  you  wish,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you 
remain  with  us  two  weeks  longer.  Meanwhile  you 
can  be  looking  about  you.  I  am  certain  that  you  will 
succeed  somewhere,  in  some  line,  sooner  or  later. 
But  I  think  that  the  newspaper  profession  is  a  waste 
of  your  time." 

Howard  had  expected  this.  Failure  after  failure, 
his  articles  thrown  away  or  re-written  by  the  copy- 


THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS.       17 

readers,  had  prepared  him  for  the  blow.  Yet  it 
crushed  him  for  the  moment.  His  voice  was  not 
steady  as  he  replied  : 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right.  Thank  you  for  taking  the 
trouble  to  study  my  case  and  t^ll  me  so  soon." 

"  Don't  hesitate  to  stay  on  for  the  two  weeks,"  Mr. 
Bowring  continued.  "  We  can  make  you  useful  to  us. 
And  you  can  look  about  to  much  better  advantage 
than  if  you  were  out  of  a  place." 

"I'll  stay  the  two  weeks,"  Howard  said,  "unless  I 
find  something  sooner." 

"  Don't  be  more  discouraged  than  you  can  help," 
said  Mr.  Bowring.  "  You  may  be  very  grateful  before 
long  for  finding  out  so  early  what  many  of  us — I  my 
self,  I  fear — find  out  after  years  and — when  it  is  too 
late." 

Always  that  note  of  despair;  always  that  pointing 
to  the  motto  over  the  door  of  the  profession  :  "  Aban 
don  hope,  ye  who  enter  here."  What  was  the  ex 
planation?  Were  these  men  right?  Was  he  wrong 
in  thinking  that  journalism  offered  the  most  splendid 
of  careers — the  development  of  the  mind  and  the 
character :  the  sharpening  of  all  the  faculties  ;  the 
service  of  truth  and  right  and  human  betterment,  in 
daily  combat  with  injustice  and  error  and  falsehood  ; 
the  arousing  and  stimulating  of  the  drowsy  minds  of 
the  masses  of  mankind  ? 


i8  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Howard  looked  about  at  the  men  who  held  on 
where  he  was  slipping.  "  Can  it  be,"  he  thought, 
"  that  I  cannot  survive  in  a  profession  where  the 
poorest  are  so  poor  in  intellect  and  equipment  ?  Why 
am  I  so  dull  that  I  cannot  catch  the  trick  ?  " 

He  set  himself  to  study  newspapers,  reading  them 
line  by  line,  noting  the  modes  of  presenting  facts,  the 
arrangement  of  headlines,  the  order  in  which  the 
editors  put  the  several  hundred  items  before  the  eyes 
of  the  reader — what  they  displayed  on  each  page  and 
why;  how  they  apportioned  the  space.  With  the 
energy  of  unconquerable  resolution  he  applied  him 
self  to  solving  for  himself  the  puzzle  of  the  press — 
the  science  and  art  of  catching  the  eye  and  holding 
the  attention  of  the  hurrying,  impatient  public. 

He  learned  much.  He  began  to  develop  the  news- 
instinct,  that  subtle  instant  realisation  of  what  is 
interesting  and  what  is  not  interesting  to  the  public 
mind.  But  the  time  was  short ;  a  sense  of  impending 
calamity  and  the  lack  of  self-confidence  natural  to 
inexperience  made  it  impossible  for  him  effectively  to 
use  his  new  knowledge  in  the  few  small  opportunities 
which  Mr.  Bowring  gave  him.  With  only  six  days  of 
his  two  weeks  left,  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  into 
the  paper  not  a  single  item  of  a  length  greater  than 
two  sticks.  He  slept  little  ;  he  despaired  not  at  all; 
but  he  was  heart-sick  and,  as  he  lay  in  his  bed  in  the 


THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS.       19 

little  hall-room  of  the  furnished-room  house,  he  often 
envied  women  the  relief  of  tears.  What  he  endured 
will  be  appreciated  only  by  those  who  have  been  bred 
in  sheltered  homes  ;  who  have  abruptly  and  alone 
struck  out  for  themselves  in  the  ocean  of  a  great  city 
without  a  single  lesson  in  swimming ;  who  have  felt 
themselves  seized  from  below  and  dragged  downward 
toward  the  deep-lying  feeding-grounds  of  Poverty  and 
Failure. 

"  Buck  up,  old  man,"  said  Kittredge  to  whom  he 
told  his  bad  news  after  several  days  of  hesitation  and 
after  Kittredge  had  shown  him  that  he  strongly  sus 
pected  it.  "  Don't  mind  old  Bowring.  You're  sure 
to  get  on,  and,  if  you  insist  upon  the  folly,  in  this 
profession.  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  Montgomery — he's 
City  Editor  over  at  the  Wcrtd-shop — and  he'll  take 
you  on.  In  some  ways  you  will  do  better  there. 
You'll  rise  faster,  get  a  wider  experience,  make  more 
money.  In  fact,  this  shop  has  only  one  advantage. 
It  does  give  a  man  peace  of  mind.  It's  more  like  a 
club  than  an  office.  But  in  a  sense  that  is  a  draw 
back.  I'll  give  you  a  note  to-night.  You  will  be  at 
work  over  there  to-morrow." 

"  I  think  I'll  wait  a  few  days,"  said  Howard,  his 
tone  corresponding  to  the  look  in  his  eyes  and  the 
compression  of  his  resolute  mouth. 

The  next  day  but  one  Mr.  Bowring  called  him  up 


20  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

to  the  City  Desk  and  gave  him  a  newspaper-clipping 
which  read : 

"  Bald  Peak,  September  29 — Willie  Dent,  the  three-year-old  baby 
of  John  Dent,  a  farmer  living  two  miles  from  here,  strayed  away 
into  the  mountains  yesterday  and  has  not  been  seen  since.  His 
dog,  a  cur,  went  with  him.  Several  hundred  men  are  out  search 
ing.  It  has  been  storming,  and  the  mountains  are  full  of  bears 
and  wild  cats." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  this  in  the  Herald"  said  Howard. 

"  Will  you  take  the  train  that  leaves  at  eleven  to* 
night  and  get  us  the  story — if  it  is  not  a  *  fake,'  as  I 
strongly  suspect.  Telegraph  your  story  if  there  is 
not  time  for  you  to  get  back  here  by  nine  to-morrow 
night." 

"  Of  course  it's  a  fake,  or  at  least  a  wild  exaggera 
tion,"  thought  Howard  as  he  turned  away.  "  If  Bow- 
ring  had  not  been  all  but  sure  there  was  nothing  in  it, 
he  would  never  have  given  it  to  me." 

He  was  not  well,  his  sleepless  nights  having  begun 
to  tell  even  upon  his  powerful  constitution.  The  rest 
of  that  afternoon  and  all  of  a  night  without  sleep  in 
the  Pullman  he  was  in  a  depth  of  despond.  He  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  getting  much  comfort  out  of  an 
observation  his  father  had  made  to  him  just  before  he 
died :  "  Remember  that  ninety  per  cent  of  these  four 
teen  hundred  million  human  beings  are  uncertain 
where  to-morrow's  food  is  to  come  from.  Be  prudent 


THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS.      21 

but  never  be  afraid."  But  just  then  he  could  get  no 
consolation  out  of  this  maxim  of  grim  cheer.  He 
seemed  to  himself  incompetent  and  useless,  a  pre 
destined  failure.  "  What  is  to  become  of  me  ?  "  he 
kept  repeating,  his  heart  like  lead  and  his  mind  fum 
bling  about  in  a  confused  darkness. 

At  Bald  Peak  he  was  somewhat  revived  by  the  cold 
mountain  air  of  the  early  morning.  As  he  alighted 
upon  the  station  platform  he  spoke  to  the  baggage- 
master  standing  in  front  of  the  steps. 

"  Was  the  little  boy  of  a  man  named  Dent  lost  in 
the  mountains  near  here  ?  " 

"  Yes — three  days  ago,"  replied  the  baggage-man. 

"  Have  they  found  him  yet  ?  " 

"  No — nor  never  will  alive — that's  my  opinion." 

Howard  asked  for  the  nearest  livery-stable  and 
within  twenty  minutes  was  on  his  way  to  Dent's  farm. 
His  driver  knew  all  about  the  lost  child.  Two  hun 
dred  men  were  still  searching.  "And  Mrs.  Dent, 
she's  been  sittin'  by  the  window,  list'nin'  day  and 
night.  She  won't  speak  nor  eat  and  she  ain't  shed  a 
tear.  It  was  her  only  child.  The  men  come  in  sayin* 
it  ain't  no  use  to  hunt  any  more,  an'  they  look  at  her 
an'  out  they  goes  ag'in." 

Soon  the  driver  pointed  to  a  cottage  near  the  road. 
The  gate  was  open ;  the  grass  and  the  flower-beds 
were  trampled  into  a  morass.  The  door  was  thrown 


22  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

wide  and  several  women  were  standing  about  the 
threshold.  At  the  window  within  view  of  the  road 
and  the  mountains  sat  the  mother — a  young  woman 
with  large  brown  eyes,  and  clear-cut  features,  refined, 
beautified,  exalted  by  suffering.  Her  look  was  that 
of  one  listening  for  a  faint,  far  away  sound  upon 
which  hangs  the  turn  of  the  balances  to  joy  or  to 
despair. 

######### 

That  morning  two  of  the  searchers  went  to  the 
northeast  into  the  dense  and  tangled  swamp  woods 
between  Bald  Peak  and  Cloudy  Peak — the  wildest 
wilderness  in  the  mountains.  The  light  barely  pen 
etrates  the  foliage  on  the  brightest  days.  The  ground 
is  rough,  sometimes  precipitous,  closely  covered  with 
bushes  and  tangled  creepers. 

The  two  explorers,  almost  lost  themselves,  came  at 

last  to  the  edge  of  a  swamp  surrounded  by  cedars. 

They  half-crawled,  half-climbed  through  the  low  trees 

~nd  festooning  creepers  to  the  edge  of  a  clear  bit  of 

;)en,  firm  ground. 

In  the  middle  was  a  cedar  tree.  Under  it,  seated 
upon  the  ground,  was  the  lost  boy.  His  bare,  brown 
legs,  torn  and  bleeding,  were  stretched  straight  in 
front  of  him.  His  bare  feet  were  bruised  and  cut. 
His  gingham  dress  was  torn  and  wet  and  stained. 
His  small  hands  were  smears  of  dirt  and  blood.  He 


THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS.      23 

was  playing  with  a  tin  can.  He  had  put  a  stone  into 
it  and  was  making  a  great  rattling.  The  dog  was 
running  to  and  fro,  apparently  enjoying  the  noise. 
The  little  boy's  face  was  tear-stained  and  his  eyes 
were  swollen.  But  he  was  not  crying  just  then  and 
laughter  lurked  in  his  thin,  fever-flushed  face. 

As  the  men  came  into  view,  the  dog  began  to  bark 
angrily,  but  the  boy  looked  a  solemn  welcome. 

"  Want  mamma,"  he  said.     "  I'se  hungry." 

One  of  the  men  picked  him  up — the  gingham  dress 
was  saturated. 

"  You're  hungry  ?  "  asked  the  man,  his  voice  chok 
ing. 

"  Yes.  An'  I'se  so  wet.  It  wained  and  wained." 
Then  the  child  began  to  sob.  "  It  was  dark,"  he 
whispered,  "  an'  cold.  I  want  my  mamma." 

It  was  an  hour's  tedious  journey  back  to  Dent's  by 
the  shortest  route.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  those  near 
the  cottage  saw  the  boy  in  the  arms  of  the  man  who 
had  found  him.  They  shouted  and  the  mother  sprang 
out  of  the  house  and  came  running,  stumbling  down 
the  path  to  the  gate.  She  caught  at  the  gate-post 
and  stood  there,  laughing,  screaming,  sobbing. 

"  Baby  !  Baby  !  "  she  called. 

The  little  boy  turned  his  head  and  stretched  out 
his  thin,  blood-stained  arms.  She  ran  toward  him  and 
snatched  him  from  the  young  farmer. 


24  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Hungry,  mamma,"  he  sobbed,  hiding  his  face  on 
her  shoulder. 


Howard  wrote  his  story  on  the  train,  going  down  to 
New  York.  It  was  a  straightforward  chronicle  of  just 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  He  began  at  the  begin 
ning  —  the  little  mountain  home,  the  family  of  three, 
the  disappearance  of  the  child.  He  described  the 
perils  of  the  mountains,  the  storm,  the  search,  the 
wait,  the  listening  mother,  scene  by  scene,  ending 
with  mother  and  child  together  again  and  the  dog 
racing  around  them,  with  wagging  tail  and  hanging 
tongue.  He  wrote  swiftly,  making  no  changes,  with 
out  a  trace  of  his  usual  self-consciousness  in  composi 
tion.  When  he  had  done  he  went  into  the  restaurant 
car  and  dined  almost  gaily.  He  felt  that  he  had  failed 
again.  How  could  he  hope  to  tell  such  a  story? 
But  he  was  not  despondent.  He  was  still  under  the 
spell  of  that  intense  human  drama  with  its  climax  of 
joy.  His  own  concerns  seemed  secondary,  of  no  con 
sequence. 

He  reached  the  office  at  half-past  nine,  handed  in 
his  "copy  "  and  went  away.  He  was  in  bed  at  half- 
past  ten  and  was  at  once  asleep.  At  eleven  the  next 
morning  a  knocking  awakened  him  from  a  sound 
sleep  that  had  restored  and  refreshed  him.  "  A  mes 
senger  from  the  office,"  was  called  through  the  door 


THE  CITY  EDITOR  RECONSIDERS.      25 

in  answer  to  his  inquiry.     He  took  the  note  from  the 
boy  and  tore  it  open  : 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Howard  :  Thank  you  for  the  splendid  story 
you  gave  us  last  night.  It  is  one  of  the  best,  if  not  the  best,  we 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  publishing  in  years.  Your  salary  has 
been  raised  to  twenty-five  dollars  a  week. 

"  Congratulations.  You  have  '  caught  on '  at  last.  I'm  glad 
to  take  back  what  I  said  the  other  day. 

"  HENRY  C.  BOWRING." 


III. 

A  PARK  ROW  CELEBRITY. 

KlTTREDGE  was  the  first  to  congratulate  him  when 
he  reached  the  office.  "  Everybody  is  talking  about 
your  story,"  he  said.  "  I  must  say  I  was  surprised 
when  I  read  it.  I  had  begun  to  fear  that  you  would 
never  catch  the  trick — for,  with  most  of  us  writing  is 
only  a  trick.  But  now  I  see  that  you  are  a  born 
writer.  Your  future  is  in  your  own  hands." 

"You  think  I  can  learn  to  write  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  sane  way  to  put  it.  Yes,  I  know  that 
you  can.  If  you'll  only  not  be  satisfied  with  the 
results  that  come  easy,  you  will  make  a  reputation. 
Not  a  mere  Park  Row  reputation,  but  the  real  thing." 

Howard  got  flattery  enough  in  the  next  few  days 
to  turn  a  stronger  head  than  was  his  at  twenty-two.  But 
a  few  partial  failures  within  a  fortnight  sobered  him 
and  steadied  him.  His  natural  good  sense  made  him 
take  himself  in  hand.  He  saw  that  his  success  had 
been  to  a  great  extent  a  happy  accident ;  that  to 
repeat  it,  to  improve  upon  it  he  must  study  life,  study 
the  art  of  expression.  He  must  keep  his  senses  open 
to  impression.  He  must  work  at  style,  enlarge  his 


A  PARK  ROW  CELEBRITY.  27 

vocabulary,  learn  the  use  of  words,  the  effect  of  vary 
ing  combinations  of  words  both  as  to  sound  and  as  to 
meaning.  "  I  must  learn  to  write  for  the  people,"  he 
thought,  "  and  that  means  to  write  the  most  difficult 
of  all  styles." 

He  was,  then  and  always,  one  of  those  who  like 
others  and  are  liked  by  them,  yet  never  seek  company 
and  so  are  left  to  themselves.  As  he  had  no  money 
to  spare  and  a  deep  aversion  to  debt,  he  was  not 
tempted  into  joining  in  the  time-wasting  dissipations 
that  were  now  open  to  him.  He  worked  hard  at  his 
profession  and,  when  he  left  the  office,  usually  went 
direct  to  his  rooms  to  read  until  far  into  the  morning. 
He  was  often  busy  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty- 
four.  His  day  at  reporting  was  long — from  noon  un 
til  midnight,  and  frequently  until  three  in  the  morn 
ing.  But  the  work  was  far  different  from  the  grind 
which  is  the  lot  of  the  young  men  striving  in  other 
professions  or  in  business.  It  was  the  most  fascinating 
work  imaginable  for  an  intelligent,  thirsty  mind — the 
study  of  human  nature  under  stress  of  the  great 
emotions. 

His  mode  of  thought  and  his  style  made  Mr.  Bow- 
ring  and  Mr.  King  give  him  much  of  this  particular 
kind  of  reporting.  So  he  was  always  observing  love, 
hate,  jealousy,  revenge,  greed.  He  saw  these  passions 
in  action  in  the  lives  of  people  of  all  kinds  and  con- 


28  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

ditions.  And  he  saw  little  else.  The  reporter  is  a 
historian.  And  history  is,  as  Gibbon  says,  for  the 
most  part  "  a  record  of  the  crimes,  follies  and  mis 
fortunes  of  mankind." 

For  many  a  man  this  has  been  a  ruinous,  one-sided 
development.  Howard  was  saved  by  his  extremely 
intelligent,  sympathetic  point  of  view.  He  saw  the 
whole  of  each  character,  each  conflict  that  he  was  sent 
to  study.  If  the  point  of  the  story  was  the  good  side 
of  human  nature — some  act  of  generosity  or  self- 
sacrifice — he  did  not  exaggerate  it  into  godlike  heroism 
but  adjusted  it  in  its  proper  prospective  by  bringing 
out  its  human  quality  and  its  human  surroundings. 
If  the  main  point  was  violence  or  sordidness  or  base 
ness,  he  saw  the  characteristics  which  relieved  and 
partially  redeemed  it.  His  news-reports  were  accounts 
of  the  doings  not  of  angels  or  devils  but  of  human 
beings,  accounts  written  from  a  thoroughly  human 
standpoint. 

Here  lay  the  cause  of  his  success.  In  all  his  better 
stories — for  he  often  wrote  poor  ones — there  was  the 
atmosphere  of  sincerity,  of  realism,  the  marks  of  an 
acute  observer,  without  prejudice  and  with  a  justifiable 
leaning  toward  a  belief  in  the  fundamental  worth  of 
humanity.  Where  others  were  cynical  he  was  just. 
Where  others  were  sentimental,  he  had  sincere,  health 
ful  sentiment.  Where  others  were  hysterical,  he 


A  PARK  ROW  CELEBRITY.  29 

calmly  and  accurately  described,  permitting  the  trag 
edy  to  reveal  itself  instead  of  burying  it  beneath  high- 
heaped  adjectives.  Simplicity  of  style  was  his  aim 
and  he  was  never  more  delighted  by  any  compliment 
than  by  one  from  the  chief  political  reporter. 

"  That  story  of  yours  this  morning,"  said  this 
reporter  whose  lack  as  a  writer  was  more  than  com 
pensated  by  his  ability  to  get  intimately  acquainted 
with  public  men,  "  reads  as  if  a  child  might  have  writ 
ten  it.  I  don't  see  how  you  get  such  effects  without 
any  style  at  all.  You  just  let  your  story  tell  itself." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  replied  Howard,  "  I  am  writing 
for  the  masses,  and  fine  writing  would  be  wasted  upon 
them." 

" You're  right,"  said  Jackman,  "we  don't  need 
literature  on  this  paper — long  words,  high-sounding 
phrases  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  What  we  want  is 
just  plain,  simple  English  that  goes  straight  to  the 
point." 

"  Like  Shakespeare's  and  Bunyan's,"  suggested 
Kittredge  with  a  grin. 

"  Shakespeare  ?  Fudge  !  "  scoffed  Jackman.  "  Why 
he  couldn't  have  made  a  living  as  a  space-writer  on  a 
New  York  newspaper." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  he  would  have  staid  long  in 
Park  Row,"  replied  Kittredge  with  a  subtlety  of 
meaning  that  escaped  Jackman. 


30  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

###•*###•*# 

A  few  days  before  New  Year's  the  Managing  Editor 
looked  up  and  smiled  as  Howard  was  passing  his  desk. 

"  How  goes  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  not  so  badly,"  Howard  answered,  "  but  I  am 
a  good  deal  depressed  at  times." 

"  Depressed  ?  Nonsense  !  You've  got  everything 
— youth,  health  and  freedom.  And  by  the  way,  you 
are  going  on  space  the  first  of  the  year.  Our  rule  is  a 
year  on  salary  before  space.  But  we  felt  that  it  was 
about  time  to  strengthen  the  rule  by  making  an  ex 
ception.  ' 

Howard  stammered  thanks  and  went  away.  This 
piece  of  news,  dropped  apparently  so  carelessly  by 
Mr.  King,  meant  a  revolution  in  fortune  for  him. 
It  was  the  transition  from  close  calculation  on  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week  to  wealth  beyond  his  most  fanci 
ful  dreams  of  six  months  ago.  Not  having  the 
money-getting  instinct  and  being  one  of  those  who 
compare  their  work  with  the  best  instead  of  with  the 
inferior,  Howard  never  felt  that  he  was  "  entitled  to  a 
living."  He  had  a  lively  sense  of  gratitude  for  the 
money  return  for  his  services  which  prudence  pres 
ently  taught  him  to  conceal. 

11  Space  "  meant  to  him  eighty  dollars  a  week  at 
least — circumstances  of  ease.  So  vast  a  sum  did  it 
seem  that  he  began  to  consider  the  problem  of  invest- 


A  PARK  ROW  CELEBRITY.  31 

ment.  "  I  have  been  not  badly  off  on  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week,"  he  thought.  "  With,  well,  say  forty 
dollars  a  week  I  shall  be  able  to  satisfy  all  my  wants. 
I  can  save  at  least  forty  a  week  and  that  will  mean  an 
independence  with  a  small  income  by  the  time  I  am 
thirty-four." 

But— a  year  after  he  was  put  "  on  space  "  he  was 
still  just  about  even  with  his  debts.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  living  no  better  and  it  was  only  by  care- 
ful  counting-up  that  he  could  see  how  that  dream  of 
independence  had  eluded  him.  A  more  extensive 
wardrobe,  a  little  better  food,  a  more  comfortable 
suite  of  rooms,  an  occasional  dinner  to  some  friends, 
loans  to  broken-down  reporters,  and  the  mysteriously 
vanished  two  thousand  dollars  was  accounted  for. 

Howard  tried  to  retrench,  devised  small  ingenious 
schemes  for  saving  money,  lectured  himself  severely 
and  frequently  for  thus  trifling  away  his  chance  to  be 
a  free  man.  But  all  in  vain.  He  remained  poor;  and, 
whenever  he  gave  the  matter  thought,  which  was  not 
often,  gloomy  forebodings  as  to  the  future  oppressed 
him.  "  I  shall  find  myself  old,"  he  thought,  "  with 
nothing  accomplished,  with  nothing  laid  by.  I  shall 
be  an  old  drudge."  He  understood  the  pessimistic 
tone  of  his  profession.  All  about  him  were  men  like 
himself — leading  this  gambler's  life  of  feverish  ex 
citement  and  evanescent  achievement,  earning  com- 


32  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

fortable  incomes  and  saving  nothing,  looking  forward 
to  the  inevitable  time  of  failing  freshness  and  shat 
tered  nerves  and  declining  income. 

He  spasmodically  tried  to  write  stories  for  the 
magazines,  contrived  plots  for  novels  and  plays,  wrote 
first  chapters,  first  scenes  of  first  acts.  But  the  ex 
actions  of  newspaper  life,  the  impossibility  of  con 
tinuous  effort  at  any  one  piece  of  work  and  his  natural 
inertia — he  was  inert  but  neither  idle  nor  lazy — com 
bined  to  make  futile  his  efforts  to  emancipate  himself 
from  hand-to-mouth  journalism. 

He  had  been  four  years  a  reporter  and  was  almost 
twenty-six  years  old.  He  was  known  throughout  his 
profession  in  New  York,  although  he  had  never  signed 
an  article.  One  remarkable  "  human  interest  "  story 
after  another  had  forced  the  knowledge  of  his  abilities 
upon  the  reporters  and  editors  of  other  newspapers. 
And  he  was  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  best  and  in  some 
respects  the  best  "  all  round  reporter  "  in  the  city. 
This  meant  that  he  was  capable  to  any  emergency — 
that,  whatever  the  subject,  he  could  write  an  accurate, 
graphic,  consecutive  and  sustained  story  and  could 
get  it  into  the  editor's  hands  quickly. 

Indeed  he  possessed  facility  to  the  perilous  degree. 
What  others  achieved  only  after  long  toil,  he  achieved 
without  effort.  This  was  due  chiefly  to  the  fact  that 
he  never  relaxed  but  was  at  all  times  the  journalist, 


A  PARK  ROW  CELEBRITY.  33 

reading  voraciously  newspapers,  magazines  and  the 
best  books,  and  using  what  he  read  ;  observing  con 
stantly  and  ever  trying  to  see  something  that  would 
make  "  good  copy "  ;  turning  over  phrases  in  his 
mind  to  test  the  value  of  words  both  as  to  sound  and 
as  to  meaning.  He  was  an  incessantly  active  man. 
His  great  weakness  was  the  common  weakness — 
failure  to  concentrate.  In  Park  Row  they  regarded 
him  as  a  brilliant  success.  Brilliant  he  was.  But  a 
success  he  was  not.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  brilliant 
failure — and  not  very  brilliant. 

"  Why  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  himself  again  and  again  in 
periods  of  reaction  from  the  nervous  strain  of  some 
exciting  experience.  "  Shall  I  never  seize  any  of 
these  chances  that  are  always  thrusting  themselves  at 
me?  Shall  I  always  act  like  a  Neapolitan  beggar? 
Will  the  stimulus  to  ambition  never  come  ?  " 


IV. 

IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA. 

HOWARD  lived  in  Washington  Square,  South.  He 
had  gone  to  a  "  furnished-room  house  "  there  because 
it  was  cheap.  He  staid  because  he  was  comfortable 
and  was  without  a  motive  for  moving. 

It  was  the  centre  of  the  most  varied  life  in  New 
York.  To  the  north  lay  fashion  and  wealth,  to  the 
east  and  west,  respectability  and  moderate  means ;  to 
the  south,  poverty  and  squalor,  vice  and  crime.  All 
could  be  seen  and  heard  from  the  windows  of  his 
sitting  room.  In  the  evenings  toward  spring  he 
looked  out  upon  a  panorama  of  the  human  race  such 
as  is  presented  by  no  other  city  in  the  world  and  by 
no  other  part  of  that  city.  Within  view  were  Ameri 
cans  of  all  kinds,  French  and  Germans,  Italians  and 
Austrians,  Spaniards  and  Moors,  Scandinavians  and 
negroes,  born  New  Yorkers  and  born  citizens  of  most 
of  the  capitals  of  civilisation  and  semi-barbarism. 
There  were  actresses,  dancers,  shop  girls,  cocottes ; 
touts,  thieves,  confidence-men,  mission  workers  ;  artists 
and  students  from  the  musty  University  building, 
tramps  and  drunkards  from  the  "  barrel-houses  "  and 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  35 

"  stale-beer  shops ; "  and,  across  the  square  to  the 
north,  representatives  of  New  York's  oldest  and  most 
noted  families.  To  the  west  were  apartment  houses 
whence  stiff,  prim  bookkeepers,  floor-walkers,  clerks 
and  small  shop-keepers  issued  with  their  families  on 
Sundays,  bound  for  church.  There  were  other  apart 
ment  houses — the  most  of  them  to  the  south — whence 
in  the  midnight  hours  came  slattern  servants  and  reck 
less  looking  girls  in  loose  wrappers  and  high-heeled 
slippers,  pitcher  in  hand,  bound  for  the  nearest  saloon. 

After  dusk  from  early  spring  until  late  fall  a  multi 
tude  of  interesting  sounds  mingled  with  the  roar  of 
the  elevated  trains  to  the  west  and  south  and  the 
rumble  of  carriages  in  "  the  Avenue  "  to  the  north. 
Howard,  reading  or  writing  at  his  window  on  his 
leisure  days,  heard  the  young  men  and  young  women 
laughing  and  shouting  and  making  love  under  the 
trees  where  the  Washington  Arch  glistened  in  the 
twilight.  Later  came  the  songs — "  I  want  you,  my 
honey,  yes  I  do,"  or  "  Lu,  Lu,  how  I  love  my  Lu  !  ", 
or  some  other  of  the  current  concert-hall  jingles. 
Many  figures  could  be  seen  flitting  about  in  the  shad 
ows.  Usually  these  figures  were  in  pairs ;  usually  one 
was  in  white ;  usually  at  her  waist-line  there  was  a 
black  belt  that  continued  on  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
other  and  darker  figure. 

Scraps  of  a  score  of  languages — curses,  jests,  terms 


36  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

of  endearment — would  float  up  to  him.  Then  came 
the  hours  of  comparative  silence,  with  the  city  breath 
ing  softly  and  regularly,  with  the  moon  hanging  low 
and  the  pale  arch  rising  above  the  dark  trees  like  a 
giant  ghost.  There  would  be  an  occasional  drunken 
shout  or  shriek ;  a  riotous  roar  of  song  from  some 
staggering  reveller  making  company  for  himself  on 
the  journey  home ;  the  heavy  step  of  the  policeman. 
Or  perhaps  the  only  sound  to  disturb  the  city's  sleep 
would  be  that  soft  tread,  timid  as  a  mouse's,  stealthy 
as  a  jackal's — the  tread  of  a  lonely  woman  with  drag 
gled  silk  skirt  and  painted  cheeks  and  eyes  burning 
into  the  darkness,  and  a  heart  as  bitter  and  as  sad  as 
no  money,  no  home,  no  friends,  no  hope  can  make  it. 

Once  he  threw  a  silver  dollar  from  his  window  to 
the  sidewalk  well  in  front  of  her.  She  did  not  see  it 
flash  downward  but  she  heard  it  ring  upon  the  walk. 
She  rushed  forward  and  twice  kicked  it  away  from 
her  in  her  frenzy  to  get  it.  When  her  bare  hand — or 
was  it  a  claw  ? — at  last  closed  upon  it,  she  gave  a  low 
scream,  looked  slyly  and  fearfully  about,  then  ran  as 
if  death  were  at  her  heels. 

Soon  after  Howard  was  put  "  on  space"  he  took  the 
best  suite  of  rooms  in  the  house.  It  was  a  strange 
company  which  Mrs.  Sands  had  gathered  under  her 
roof.  Except  Howard  there  was  no  one,  not  even 
Mrs.  Sands  herself,  who  did  not  have  so  much  past 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  37 

that  there  was  little  left  for  future.  Indeed,  perhaps 
none  of  these  storm-tossed  or  wrecked  human  craft 
had  had  more  of  a  past  than  Mrs.  Sands.  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  significance  of  those  deep  furrows 
filled  with  powder  and  plastered  with  paint,  those 
few  hairs  tinted  and  frizzed.  But  like  all  persons 
with  real  pasts  Mrs.  Sands  and  her  lodgers  kept  the 
veil  tightly  drawn.  They  confessed  to  no  yesterdays 
and  they  did  not  dare  think  of  to-morrow.  They  were 
incuriously  awaiting  the  impulse  which  was  sure  to 
come,  sure  to  thrust  them  on  downward. 

A  new  lodger  at  Mrs.  Sand's  usually  took  the  best 
rooms  that  were  to  be  had.  Then,  sometimes  slowly, 
sometimes  swiftly,  came  the  retreat  upward  until  a 
cubby-hole  under  the  eaves  was  reached.  Finally 
came  precipitate  and  baggageless  departure,  often 
with  a  week  or  two  of  lodging  unpaid.  The  next 
pause,  if  pause  there  was,  would  be  still  nearer  the 
river-bed  or  the  Morgue. 

One  morning  when  he  had  been  living  in  Washing 
ton  Square,  South,  about  three  years,  Howard  was 
dressing  hurriedly,  the  door  of  his  sitting-room  acci 
dentally  ajar.  Through  the  crack  he  saw  some  one 
stooping  over  the  serving  tray  which  he  had  himself 
put  outside  his  door  when  he  had  finished  breakfast. 
He  looked  more  closely.  It  was  "  the  clergyman  " 
from  up  under  the  eaves — an  unfrocked  priest,  thin  to 


38  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

emaciation,  misery  written  upon  his  face  even  more 
deeply  than  weakness.  He  hastily  bundled  the  bones 
of  two  chops  and  a  bit  of  bread  into  a  stained  and 
torn  handkerchief,  and  sprang  away  up  the  stairs 
toward  his  little  hole  at  the  roof. 

Howard  was  in  a  hurry  and  so  put  of!  for  the  time 
action  upon  the  natural  impulse.  When  he  came 
back  at  midnight,  there  was  soon  a  knock  at  his  door. 
He  opened  it  and  invited  in  the  man  at  the  threshold 
— a  tall,  strongly  built,  erect  German,  with  a  dissipated 
handsome  face,  heavily  scarred  from  university  duels. 

"  Pardon  me  for  disturbing  you,"  said  the  German. 
His  speech,  his  tone,  his  manner,  left  no  doubt  as  to 
his  breeding  though  they  raised  the  gravest  doubts  as 
to  his  being  willing  to  give  a  true  account  of  why  he 
had  become  a  tenant  in  that  lodging  house. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cigarette  and  some  whiskey  ?  " 
inquired  Howard. 

The  German's  glance  lit  and  lingered  upon  the 
bottle  of  Scotch  on  the  table.  "  Concentrated,  double- 
distilled  friendship,"  said  he  as  he  poured  out  his 
drink. 

"  But  a  friend  that  drives  all  others  away,"  smiled 
Howard. 

"  I  have  found  it  of  a  very  jealous  disposition," 
replied  the  German  with  a  careless  shrug  of  the  shoul 
ders  and  a  lifting  of  the  eyebrows.  "  But  at  least  this 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  39 

friend  has  the  grace  to  stay  after  it  has  driven  the 
others  away." 

"  To  stay  until  the  last  piece  of  silver  is  gone." 

"  But  what  more  does  one  expect  of  a  friend  ? 
Besides,  we  are  overlooking  one  friend — the  one  who 
helped  our  clerical  fellow-lodger  of  the  attic  out  of 
his  troubles  to-day." 

"  His  luck  has  turned?'* 

"  Permanently.     He  shot  himself  this  afternoon." 

"And  only  this  morning  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try 
to  help  him,"  said  Howard  regretfully. 

"  You  could  not  have  hoped  to  succeed  so  well. 
His  case  needed  something  more  than  temporary 
expedient.  But,  to  come  to  the  point,  I  had  a 
slight  acquaintance  with  him.  He  left  a  note  for  me 
— mailed  it  just  before  he  shot  himself.  In  it  he 
asked  that  I  insert  a  personal  in  the  Herald.  Unfor 
tunately  I  have  not  the  money.  I  thought  that 
you  as  a  journalist  might  be  able  to  suggest  some 
thing." 

The  German  held  out  a  slip  of  cheap  writing  paper 
on  which  was  written  :  "  Helen — when  you  see  this  it 
will  be  over — L." 

"  A  good  story,"  was  Howard's  first  thought,  his 
news-instinct  alert.  And  then  he  remembered  that  it 
was  not  for  him  to  tell.  "  I  will  attend  to  this  for  you 
to-morrow." 


40  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  German,  helping  himself  to 
the  whiskey.  "  Have  you  seen  the  new  lodgers  ?  " 

"  Those  in  the  room  behind  me?  Yes.  I  saw 
them  at  the  front  door  as  I  came  in." 

"  They're  a  queer  pair — the  youngest  I've  seen  in 
this  house.  I've  been  wondering  what  tempest 
wrecked  them  on  this  forlorn  coast  so  early  in  the 
voyage." 

"  Why  wrecked  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,  we  are  all — except  you — wrecks  here, 
all  unseaworthy  at  least." 

"  One  of  them  was  quite  pretty,  I  thought,"  said 
Howard,  *'  the  slender  one  with  the  black  hair." 

"  They  are  not  mates.  The  other  girl  is  of  a  differ- 
ent  sort.  She's  more  used  to  this  kind  of  life,  at  least 
to  poverty.  I  fancy  Miss  Black-Hair  looks  on  it  as  a 
lark.  But  she'll  find  out  the  truth  by  the  time  she 
has  mounted  another  story." 

"  Here,  to  go  up  means  to  go  down,"  Howard  said, 
weary  of  the  conversation  and  wishing  that  the  Ger 
man  would  leave. 

"  They  say  that  they're  sisters,"  the  German  went 
on,  again  helping  himself  to  the  whiskey  ;  "  They  say 
they  have  run  away  from  home  because  of  a  step 
mother  and  that  they  are  going  to  earn  their  own 
living.  But  they  won't.  They  spend  the  nights  rac 
ing  about  with  a  gang  of  the  young  wretches  of  this 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  41 

neighbourhood.  They  won't  be  able  to  stand  getting 
up  early  for  work.  And  then " 

The  German  blew  out  a  huge  cloud  of  cigarette 
smoke,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  added :  "  Miss 
Black-Hair  may  get  on  up  town  presently.  But  I 
doubt  it.  The  Tenderloin  rarely  recruits  from  down 
here." 

The  bottle  was  empty  and  the  German  bowed  him 
self  out.  As  the  night  was  hot,  Howard  opened  the 
door  a  few  moments  afterward.  At  the  other  end  of 
the  short  hall  light  was  streaming  through  the  open 
door  of  the  room  the  two  girls  had  taken.  Before  he 
could  turn,  there  was  a  shadow  and  "  Miss  Black- 
Hair  "  was  standing  in  her  doorway. 

"  Oh,"  she  began,  "  I  thought " 

Howard  paused,  looking  at  her.  She  was  above  the 
medium  height — tall  for  a  woman — and  slender.  Her 
loose  wrapper,  a  little  open  at  her  round  throat,  clung 
to  her,  attracting  attention  to  all  the  lines  of  her  form. 
Her  hair  was  indeed  black,  jet  black,  waving  back 
from  her  forehead  in  a  line  of  curving  and  beautiful 
irregularity.  Her  skin  was  clear  and  dark.  There 
were  deep  circles  under  her  eyes,  making  them  look 
unnaturally  large,  pathetically  weary.  In  repose  her 
face  was  childish  and  sadly  serious.  When  she  smiled 
she  looked  older  and  pert,  but  no  happier. 

"  I    thought,"    she    continued  with    the    pert,   self- 


42  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

confident  smile,  "  that  you  were  my  sister  Nellie. 
I'm  waiting  for  her." 

"  You're  in  early  to-night,"  said  Howard,  the  circles 
under  her  eyes  reminding  him  of  what  the  German 
had  told  him. 

"  I  haven't  slept  much  for  a  week/'  the  girl  replied, 
"  I'm  nearly  dead.  But  I  won't  go  to  bed  till  Nellie 
comes." 

Howard  was  about  to  turn  when  she  went  on  :  "  We 
agreed  always  to  stay  together.  She  broke  it  to 
night.  My  fellow  got  too  fresh,  so  I  came  home. 
She  said  she'd  come  too.  That  was  an  hour  ago  and 
she  isn't  here  yet." 

"  Isn't  she  rather  young  to  be  out  alone  at  this 
time?" 

Howard  could  hardly  have  told  why  he  continued 
the  conversation.  He  certainly  would  not,  had  she 
been  less  beautiful  or  less  lonely  and  childish.  At  his 
remark  about  her  sister's  youth  she  laughed  with  an 
expression  of  cunning  at  once  amusing  and  pitiful. 

"  She's  a  year  older  than  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
guess  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  Still  she  hasn't 
much  sense.  She'll  get  into  trouble  yet.  She  doesn't 
understand  how  to  manage  the  boys  when  they're  too 
fresh." 

"  But  you  do,  I  suppose?"  suggested  Howard. 

"Indeed    I    do,"    with  a  quick    nod    of   her   small 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  43 

graceful  head,  "  I  know  what  I'm  about.  My  mother 
taught  me  a  few  things." 

'k  Didn't  she  teach  your  sister  also  ?  " 

"  Miss  Black-Hair  "  dropped  her  eyes  and  flushed  a 
little,  looking  like  a  child  caught  in  a  lie.  "Of 
course,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  without  your  mother?  " 

"  I've  been  away  from  home  four  months.  But  I 
saw  her  in  the  street  yesterday.  She  didn't  see  me 
though." 

"  Then  you've  got  a  step-father?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.  Nellie  told  that  to  Mrs.  Sands. 
But  it's  not  so.  You  know  Nellie's  not  my  sister?" 

"  I  fancied  not  from  what  you  said  a  moment  ago." 

"  No,  she  used  to  be  nurse  girl  in  our  family.  We 
just  say  we're  sisters.  I  wish  she'd  come.  I'm  tired 
of  standing.  Won't  you  come  in  ?" 

She  went  into  her  room,  her  manner  a  frank  and 
simple  invitation.  Howard  hesitated,  then  went  just 
inside  the  door  and  half  sat,  half  leaned  upon  the  high 
roll  of  the  lounge.  The  room  was  cheaply  furnished, 
the  lounge  and  a  closed  folding  bed  almost  filling  it. 
Upon  the  mantel,  the  bureau  and  the  little  table  were 
a  few  odds  and  ends  that  stamped  it  a  woman's  room. 
A  street  gown  of  thin  pale-blue  cloth  was  thrown 
over  a  rocking  chair.  As  the  girl  leaned  back  in  this 
chair  with  her  face  framed  in  the  pale-blue  of  the  gown. 


44  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

she  looked  tired  and  sad  and  beautiful  and  very  young. 

"  If  Nellie  doesn't  look  out,  I'll  go  away  and  live 
alone,"  she  said,  and  the  accompanying  unconscious 
look  of  loneliness  touched  Howard. 

"  You  might  go  back  home." 

"You  don't  know  my  home  or  you  wouldn't  say 
that.  You  don't  know  my  father."  She  had  got 
upon  the  subject  of  herself,  and,  once  in  that  road  she 
kept  it  with  no  thought  of  turning  out.  "He  can't 
treat  me  as  he  treats  mother.  Why,  he  goes  away  and 
stays  for  days.  Then  he  comes  home  and  quarrels  with 
her  all  the  time.  They  never  both  sit  through  a  meal. 
One  or  the  other  flares  up  and  leaves.  He  generally 
whipped  me  when  he  got  very  mad — just  for  spite." 

"  But  there's  your  mother." 

"  Yes.  She  doesn't  like  my  going  away.  But  I 
can't  stand  it.  Papa  wouldn't  let  me  go  anywhere  or 
let  anybody  come  to  see  me.  He  says  everybody's 
bad.  I  guess  he's  about  right.  Only  he  doesn't  in 
clude  himself." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  poor  opinion  of  people." 

"  Well,  you  can't  blame  me."  She  put  on  her  wise 
look  of  experience  and  craft.  "  I've  been  away,  living 
with  Nellie  for  four  months  and  I've  seen  no  good  to 
speak  of.  A  girl  doesn't  get  a  fair  chance." 

"But  you've  got  work?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     We  both  stayed  down  in  a  restaurant. 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  45 

Nellie's  got  a  place  as  waiter.  That's  the  best  she 
could  do.  The  man  said  I  was  good-looking  and 
would  catch  trade.  So  he  made  me  cashier.  I  get 
six  dollars  a  week  to  Nellie's  three.  But  it's  a  bad 
place.  The  men  are  always  slipping  notes  in  my 
hand  when  they  give  me  their  checks.  Then  the 
boss,  he's  always  bothering  around." 

"  But  you  don't  have  to  work  hard  ?  " 

"  From  nine  till  four.  We  get  our  lunch  free.  I 
pay  three  dollars  on  the  room  and  Nellie  pays  one." 

If  Howard  had  not  seen  many  such  problems  in 
economics  before,  he  would  have  been  astonished  at 
any  one  even  hoping  to  be  able  to  get  two  meals  a  day, 
clothing  and  carfare  out  of  two  or  three  dollars  a 
week.  As  it  was,  he  only  wondered  how  long  a  girl 
who  had  been  used  at  least  to  comfort  would  endure 
this.  "  It's  easy  for  the  other  girl,"  he  thought,  "be 
cause  she's  used  to  it.  But  this  one — "  and  he 
decided  that  the  "  trouble "  would  begin  as  soon  as 
her  clothing  was  worn  out. 

He  noticed  that  she  was  pulling  at  the  third  finger 
of  her  right  hand  where  she  would  have  worn  rings  if 
she  had  had  any.  "  You've  had  to  pawn  your  rings?  " 
he  ventured. 

She  looked  at  him  startled.  "  Did  Nellie  tell  you  ?  " 
she  asked. 


46  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  saw  that  you  were  missing 
your  rings  and  suspected  the  rest." 

"  Yes  ;  that's  so.  I've  pawned  all  my  jewelry  ex 
cept  a  bracelet.  Nellie  can't  get  along  on  her  three 
dollars.  She  eats  too  much." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  rather  be  at  home." 

"As  I  told  you  before,"  she  said  impatiently, 
"  anything's  better  than  home.  Besides,  I'm  pretty 
well  off.  I  go  where  I  please,  stay  out  as  late  as  I 
please  and  have  all  the  company  I  want.  At  home 
I'd  have  to  be  in  bed  at  ten  o'clock." 

There  was  a  sound  at  the  front  door  down  in  the 
darkness.  The  girl  started  from  the  chair,  listened, 
then  exclaimed  :  "  There  she  comes  now.  And  it's 
two  o'clock !  " 

Howard  took  the  hint,  smiled  and  said :  "  Well, 
good-night.  I'll  see  you  again." 

"Good-night,"  the  girl  answered  absently. 

From  his  room  Howard  heard  Nellie  coming  up  the 
stairs.  "  You're  a  nice  one  !  "  came  in  "  Miss  Black- 
Hair's  "  indignant  voice,  "  Where  have  you  been  ? 
Where  did  you  and  Jack  go  ?  " 

The  answer  came  in  a  sob — "  Oh,  Alice,  you'll 
never  forgive  me !  " 

Their  door  closed  upon  the  two  girls  but  Howard 
could  still  hear  Nellie's  voice  tearful,  pleading.  There 
was  the  sound  of  some  one  falling  heavily  upon  the 


IN  THE  EDGE  OF  BOHEMIA.  47 

lounge,  then  sobs  and  cries  of  "Oh!  Oh!"  As 
Howard  went  into  his  bedroom,  he  could  hear  the 
voices  still  more  plainly  through  the  thin  wall.  He 
caught  the  words  only  once.  "  Miss  Black-Hair,"  her 
voice  shaking  with  anger,  exclaimed  :  "  Nellie  Baker, 
you  are  a  wicked  girl,  I  shall  go  away." 


V. 

ALICE. 

SEVERAL  nights  later  Howard  came  upon  Alice  at 
the  front  door,  where  a  young  man  was  detaining  her 
in  a  lingering  good-bye.  Another  night  as  he  was 
passing  her  room  he  saw  her  stretched  upon  the  floor, 
her  head  supported  by  her  elbows  and  an  open  book 
in  front  of  her.  She  looked  so  childlike  that  Howard 
paused  and  said  :  "  What  is  it — a  fairy  story  ?  " 

"  No,  it's  a  love  story,"  she  replied,  just  glancing  at 
him  with  a  faint  smile  and  showing  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  be  interrupted.  The  same  night  as  he  was 
going  to  bed  he  heard  the  angry  voices  of  the  two 
girls.  A  week  later,  toward  the  end  of  July,  he 
found  Alice  sitting  on  the  front  stoop,  when  he  came 
from  dinner.  She  was  obviously  in  the  depths  of  the 
"  blues."  Her  eyes,  the  droop  of  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  even  the  colour  of  her  skin  indicated  anxiety 
and  depression.  She  looked  so  forlorn  that  he  said 
gently  :  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  walk  in  the  Square?  " 

She  rose  at  once.  "  Yes,  I  guess  so."  They 
crossed  to  the  green.  She  was  wearing  the  pale-blue 
gown  and  it  fitted  her  well.  Neither  in  the  gown  nor 
in  the  big  hat  with  its  coquettish  flowers  nodding  over 


ALICE.  49 

the  brim  was  there  much  of  fashion.  But  there  was  a 
certain  distinction  in  her  walk  and  her  manner  of 
wearing  her  clothes ;  and  to  a  pretty  face  and  a  grace 
ful  form  was  added  the  charm  of  youth,  magnetic 
youth. 

"  Do  you  want  to  walk  ?  "  she  asked,  lassitude  in 
her  voice. 

"  No,  let  us  sit,"  he  said,  and  they  went  to  a  bench 
near  the  arch.  It  was  twilight.  The  children  were 
still  romping  and  shouting.  Many  fat  elderly  women — 
mothers  and  grandmothers — were  solemnly  marching 
about,  talking  in  fat,  elderly  voices. 

"  You  have  the  blues  ?  "  asked  Howard,  thinking  it 
might  make  her  feel  better  to  talk  of  her  troubles. 
"  If  I  were  your  doctor,  I  should  prescribe  a  series  of 
good  cries." 

"  I  don't  cry,"  said  the  girl.  "  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
could.  Nellie  cries  and  gets  over  things.  I  feel 
awful  inside  and  sick  and  my  eyes  burn.  But  I  can't 
cry." 

"  You're  too  young  for  that." 

"  Oh,  in  some  ways  I'm  young  ;  again,  I'm  not.  I 
hate  everybody  this  evening." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?     Has  Nellie  deserted  you  ?  " 

"She?  Not  much.  I  had  to  tell  her  to  go  "— 
this  with  a  joyless  little  laugh — "  she  quit  work  and 
wouldn't  behave  herself.  So  now  I'm  going  on  alone," 


50  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  And  you  won't  go  home  ?  " 

"  Never  in  the  world,"  she  said  with  almost  fierce 
energy  ;  then  some  thought  made  her  laugh  in  the  same 
way  as  before.  Howard  decided  that  she  had  not  told 
him  everything  about  her  home  life,  even  though  she 
had  rattled  on  as  if  there  were  nothing  to  conceal. 
He  sat  watching  her,  she  looking  straight  before  her, 
her  small  bare  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  He  was 
pitying  her  keenly — this  child,  at  once  stunted  and 
abnormally  developed,  this  stray  from  one  of  the  classes 
that  keeps  their  women  sheltered  ;  and  here  she  was 
adrift,  without  any  of  those  resources  of  experience 
which  assist  the  girls  of  the  tenements. 

Her  features  were  small,  sensitive,  regular.  Her 
eyes  were  brown  with  lines  of  reddish  gold  raying 
from  the  pupils.  Her  chin  and  mouth  were  firm 
enough,  yet  suggested  weakness  through  the  passions. 
Her  clear  skin  had  the  glow  of  youth  and  health  upon 
its  smooth  surface.  She  was  certainly  beautiful  and 
she  certainly  had  magnetism. 

"  What  do  you  think  is  going  to  become  of  you  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  after  a  deep  sigh.  "  A 
girl  doesn't  have  a  fair  chance.  I  don't  seem  to  be 
able  to  have  any  fun  without  getting  into  trouble.  I 
don't  know  what  to  think.  It's  all  so  black.  I  wish 
I  was  dead." 


ALICE.  51 

Her  dreary  tone  put  the  deepest  pathos  into  her 
words.  Howard  had  seen  despondency  in  youth  before 
— had  felt  it  himself.  But  there  had  always  been  a 
certain  lightness  in  it.  Here  was  a  mere  child  who 
evidently  thought,  and  thought  with  reason,  that  there 
was  no  hope  for  her  ;  and  her  despair  was  not  a  pass 
ing  cloud  or  storm,  but  a  settled  conviction. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  chance  for  a  young 
girl,"  she  repeated  as  if  that  phrase  summed  up  all 
that  was  weighing  upon  her.  And  Howard  feared  that 
she,  was  right.  Even  the  readiest  of  all  commodities, 
advice,  failed  him.  "  What  can  she  do  ?  "  he  thought. 
"  If  she  has  no  home,  worth  speaking  of " — then  he 
went  on  aloud : 

"  Haven't  you  friends  ?  " 

She  laughed  again  with  that  slight  moving  of  the 
lips  and  with  eyes  mirthless.  "  Who  wants  me  for  a 
friend  ?  Nobody'd  think  I  was  respectable.  And  I 
guess  I'm  not  so  very.  There's  Nellie  and  her — 
friends.  Oh,  the  girls  join  in  with  the  men  to  drag 
other  girls  down.  But  I  won't  do  that.  I  don't  care 
what  becomes  of  me — except  that." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  curious  for  her  explanation  of 
this  aversion. 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  she  replied.  "  There  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any  good  reason.  I've  thought  I  would 
several  times.  And  then — well,  I  just  couldn't." 


52  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Howard  turned  the  subject  and  tried  to  draw  her 
out  of  this  mood.  They  sat  there  for  several  hours 
and  became  well  acquainted.  He  found  that  she  had  an 
intelligent  way  of  looking  at  things,  that  she  observed 
closely,  and  that  she  appreciated  and  understood  far 
more  than  he  had  expected. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  evenings  spent 
together.  He  took  her  with  him  on  many  of  his 
assignments  and  they  often  dined  together  at  "  Le 
Chat  Noir  "  or  the  "  Restaurant  de  Paris,"  or  "  The 
Manhattan  "  over  in  Second  Avenue.  Late  in  June 
she  bought  a  new  gown — a  pale-grey  with  ribbons  and 
hat  to  match.  Howard  was  amused  at  the  anxious 
expression  in  her  gold-brown  eyes  as  she  waited  for 
his  opinion.  And  when  he  said  :  "  Well,  well,  I  never 
saw  you  look  so  pretty,"  she  looked  much  prettier 
with  a  slight  colour  rising  to  tint  the  usual  pallor  of 
her  cheeks. 

One  Sunday  he  came  home  in  the  afternoon  and 
found  her  helping  the  maid  at  straightening  his  rooms. 
As  he  lay  on  the  lounge  smoking  he  watched  her 
lazily.  She  handled  his  books  with  a  great  deal  of 
awe.  She  opened  one  of  them  and  sat  on  the  floor 
in  the  childlike  way  she  often  had.  She  read  several 
sentences  aloud.  It  was  a  tangle  of  technical  words 
on  the  subject  of  political  economy. 

"  What   do   you  have   such   stupid    things  around 


ALICE.  53 

for  ? "  she  said,  smiling  and  rising.  She  began  to 
arrange  the  books  and  papers  on  the  table.  He  was 
looking  at  her  but  thinking  of  something  else  when 
he  became  conscious  that  she  had  got  suddenly  white 
to  the  lips.  He  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  "are  you  going 
to  faint?" 

Her  eyes  were  shining  as  with  fever  out  of  a  ghostly 
face.  Her  lips  trembled  as  she  answered :  "  Oh  it's 
nothing.  I  do  this  often."  She  went  slowly  into  the 
back  room  where  the  maid  was.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  returned,  apparently  as  usual.  She  flitted  about 
uneasily,  taking  up  now  one  thing,  now  another  in  a 
purposeless,  nervous  way. 

"  I  never  was  in  here  before,"  she  said.  "  You've 
got  lots  of  pretty  things.  Whose  picture  is  this?  " 

"  That  ?     Oh,  my  sister-in-law  out  in  Chicago." 

Howard  did  not  then  understand  why  she  became 
so  gay,  why  her  eyes  danced  with  happiness,  why  as 
soon  as  she  went  into  the  hall  she  began  to  sing  and 
.kept  it  up  in  her  own  room,  quieting  down  only  to 
burst  forth  again.  He  did  not  even  especially  note 
the  swift  change,  the,  for  her,  extraordinary  mood  of 
high  spirits.  It  was  about  this  time  that  their  rela 
tions  began  to  change. 

Howard  had  thought  of  her,  or  had  thought  that 
he  thought  of  her,  only  as  a  lonely  and  desolate  child, 


54  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

to  be  taught  so  far  as  he  was  capable  of  teaching  and 
she  of  learning.  He  was  conscious  of  her  extreme 
youth  and  of  the  impassable  gulf  of  thought  and  taste 
between  them.  He  did  not  take  her  feelings  into 
account  at  all.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  this 
part  of  friend  and  patron  which  he  was  playing  was 
not  safe  for  him,  not  just  and  right  toward  her. 

One  night  he  took  her  to  a  ball  at  the  Terrace 
Garden — a  respectable,  amusing  affair  "  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Youhg-German-American-Shooting- 
Society."  The  next  day  a  reporter  for  the  Sun  whom 
he  knew  slightly  said  to  him  with  a  grin  he  did  not 
like :  "  Mighty  pretty  little  girl  you're  taking  about 
with  you,  Howard.  Where'd  you  pick  her  up?" 

Howard  reddened,  angry  with  himself  for  redden 
ing,  angry  with  the  Sun  man  for  his  impudence, 
ashamed  that  he  had  put  himself  and  Alice  in  such  a 
position.  But  the  incident  brought  the  matter  of  his 
relation  with  her  sharply  and  clearly  before  his  mind 
and  conscience. 

"This  must  stop,'*  he  said  to  himself;  "it  must 
stop  at  once.  It  is  unjust  to  her.  And  it  is  dragging 
me  into  an  entanglement." 

But  the  mischief  had  been  done.  She  loved  him. 
And  with  the  confidence  of  youth  and  inexperience, 
she  was  disregarding  all  the  obstacles,  was  giving  her 
self  up  to  the  dream  that  he  would  presently  love  her 


ALICE.  55 

in  return,  with  the  end  as  in  the  story  books.  Indeed 
love  stones  became  her  constant  companions.  Where 
she  once  read  them  for  amusement,  she  now  read 
them  as  a  Christian  reads  his  Bible — for  instruction, 
inspiration,  faith,  hope  and  courage. 

One  evening  in  July — it  was  in  the  week  of  Inde 
pendence  Day — Howard's  windows  and  door  were 
thrown  wide  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  whatever  stir 
there  might  be  in  the  air.  He  was  sprawled  upon  the 
lounge,  the  table  drawn  close  and  upon  it  a  lamp 
shedding  a  dim  light  through  the  room  but  enough 
near  by  to  let  him  read.  He  had  dropped  his  book 
and  was  thinking  whether  a  stroll  in  the  Square  in 
the  moonlight  would  repay  the  trouble  of  moving. 
There  were  steps  in  the  hall  and  then,  peeping  round 
the  door-frame  was  the  face  of  his  young  neighbour. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "I  thought  you  were  out  some 
where.  Come  in." 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  bed,"  she  answered,  nevertheless 
gradually  edging  into  the  room.  She  was  wearing  a 
loose  wrapper  of  flowered  silk,  somewhat  worn  and 
never  very  fine.  Her  black  hair  hung  in  a  long  thick 
braid  to  her  waist  and  she  looked  even  younger  than 
usual. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  evening  ?  "  asked  How 
ard. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  up  to   see  a  friend.     She  lives  in 


$6  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Harlem,  and  she  wants  me  to  come  and  live  with 
her." 

"Are  you  going?"  Howard  inquired,  noting  that 
he  was  interested  and  not  pleased.  "  The  house 
wouldn't  seem  natural  without  you." 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  gratified  glance  and,  advanc 
ing  further  into  the  room,  sat  upon  the  arm  of  the 
big  rocking-chair.  "  She  gave  me  a  good  talking  to," 
she  went  on  with  a  smile.  "  She  told  me  I  ought  not 
to  live  alone  at  my  age.  She  said  I  ought  to  live 
with  her  and  meet  some  friends  of  hers.  She  said 
maybe  I'd  find  a  nice  fellow  to  marry." 

Howard  thought  over  this  as  he  smoked  and  at  last 
said  in  an  ostentatiously  judicial  tone  :  "  Well,  I  think 
she's  right.  I  don't  see  what  else  there  is  to  do.  You 
can't  live  on  down  here  alone  always.  What's  become 
of  Nellie?" 

"  Nellie's  got  to  be  a  bad  girl,"  said  Alice  with  a 
blush  and  a  dropping  of  the  eyes.  "  She's  in  Four 
teenth  Street  every  night.  She  says  she  doesn't  care 
what  happens  to  her.  I  saw  her  last  night  and  she 
wanted  me  to  come  with  her.  She  says  it's  of  no  use 
for  me  to  put  on  airs.  She  says  I've  got  no  friends 
and  I  might  as  well  join  her  sooner  as  later." 

"Well?"  Howard  was  keeping  his  eyes  carefully 
away  from  hers. 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n'tgo  with  her.     As  long  as  a  girl  has 


ALICE.  57 

got  anything  at  all  to  live  for,  she  doesn't  want  that. 
Besides  I'd  rather  go  to  the  East  River." 

"  Browning's  a  serious  matter,"  said  Howard  with  a 
smile  and  with  banter  in  his  tone. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  the  girl  seriously,  "  I've  thought 
of  it.     And  I  don't  believe  I  could." 

"  Then  you'd  better  go  with  your  friend  and  get 
married." 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  married,"  she  replied,  shaking 
her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 

"  That's  what  all  the  girls  say,"  laughed  Howard. 

"  But  of  course  you  will.     It's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  get  married  ?  "  asked  Alice, 

tracing  one  of  the  flowers  in  her   wrapper  with  her 

slim,  brown  forefinger. 

"  I  couldn't  if  I  would  and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could." 
"  Oh,  you  could  get  a  nice  girl  to  marry  you,  I'm 
sure,"  she  said,  the  colour  rising  faintly  toward  her 
long,  downcast  lashes. 

"  But  who  would  get  the  money?  It  takes  money 
to  keep  a  nice  girl." 

"  Oh,  not  much,"  said  Alice  earnestly,  yet  with  a 
queer  hesitation  in  her  voice.  "  You  oughtn't  to 
marry  those  extravagant  girls.  I've  read  about  them 
and  I  think  they  don't  make  very  good  wives,  real 
wives  to  save  money  and — and  care." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  about  these  things 


58  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

for  your  age,"  said  Howard,  much  amused  and  show, 
ing  it. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  persisted,  "  you  ought  to  get 
married." 

Howard  felt  that  this  was  the  time  to  clear  the  girl's 
mind  of  any  "  notions"  she  might  have  got.  He 
would  be  very  clever,  very  adroit.  He  would  not  let 
her  suspect  that  he  had  any  idea  of  her  thoughts. 
Indeed  he  was  not  perfectly  certain  that  he  had.  But 
he  would  gently  and  frankly  tell  her  the  truth. 

"  I  shall  never  get  married,"  he  said,  sitting  up  and 
talking  as  one  who  is  discussing  a  case  which  he 
understands  thoroughly  yet  has  no  personal  interest 
in.  "  I  haven't  the  money  and  I  haven't  the  desire.  I 
am  what  they  would  call  a  confirmed  bachelor.  I 
wouldn't  marry  any  girl  who  had  not  been  brought  up 
as  I  have  been.  We  should  be  unhappy  together 
unsuited  each  to  the  other.  She  would  soon  hate  me. 
Besides,  I  wish  to  be  free.  I  care  more  for  freedom 
than  I  ever  shall  for  any  human  being.  As  I  am  now, 
so  I  shall  always  be,  a  wandering  fellow  without 
ties.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  prospect  for  old  age.  But 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  it  and  I  shall  never 
marry." 

The  girl's  hands  had  dropped  limp  into  her  lap  ; 
her  face  was  down  so  that  he  could  barely  see  the 
burning  blush  which  overspread  it. 


ALICE.  59 

"  You  don't  mean  that,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
was  queer  and  choked. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do,  little  girl/'  he  answered,  intending 
to  srnile  when  she  should  look  up. 

When  she  did  lift  her  eyes,  his  smile  could  not 
come.  For  her  face  was  grey  and  her  lips  bloodless 
and  from  her  eyes  looked  despair.  Howard  glanced 
away  instantly.  With  rude  hand  he  had  suddenly 
toppled  into  the  dust  this  child's  dream-castle  of  love 
and  happiness  which  he  had  himself  helped  her  build. 
He  felt  like  a  criminal.  But  partly  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  chiefly  from  the  cowardice  of  self-preservation, 
he  made  no  effort  to  lighten  her  suffering. 

"  I  should  only  prolong  it,"  he  thought,  "  only  make 
matters  worse.  "  To-morrow — perhaps." 

If  she  had  been  worldly  wise,  even  if  she  had  not 
been  so  completely  absorbed  in  her  worship  of  him 
that  her  woman-instincts  were  dormant,  she  would 
herself  have  found  hope.  But  she  had  not  a  suspicion 
that  these  strong  words  of  apparent  finality  were 
spoken  to  give  himself  courage,  to  keep  him  from 
obeying  the  impulse  to  respond  to  the  appeal  of  her 
youth  to  his,  her  aloneness  to  his,  her  passion  to  his. 
She  believed  him  literally. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  He  heard  her  move, 
heard  a  suppressed  cry  and  glanced  toward  her  again. 


6o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

She  was  darting  from  the  room.  A  second  later  her 
door  crashed.  He  started  up  and  after  her,  hesitated, 
returned  to  his  book — but  not  to  his  reading. 

Toward  noon  the  next  day,  he  passed  her  room  on 
his  way  out.  The  door  was  wide  open  ;  none  of  her 
belongings  was  in  sight ;  the  maid  was  sweeping 
energetically.  She  paused  when  she  saw  him. 

"  Miss  Alice  left  this  morning,"  she  said,  "  and  the 
room's  been  let  to  another  party." 


VI. 

IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND. 

HOWARD  could  have  got  her  new  address;  and  for 
many  weeks  habit,  at  first  steadily,  afterward  inter 
mittently,  teased  him  to  look  her  up.  He  was  amazed 
at  her  hold  upon  him.  At  times  the  longing  for  her 
was  so  intense  that  he  almost  suspected  himself  of 
being  in  love  with  her. 

"  I  escaped  from  that  none  too  soon,"  he  congrat 
ulated  himself.  "  It  wasn't  nearly  so  one-sided  as  I 
thought." 

He  had  never  been  gregarious.  Thus  far  he  had 
not  had  a  single  intimate  friend,  man  or  woman.  He 
knew  many  people  and  knew  them  well.  They  liked 
him  and  some  of  them  sought  his  friendship.  These 
were  often  puzzled  because  it  was  easy  to  get  ac 
quainted  with  hinv  impossible  to  know  him  inti 
mately. 

The  explanation  of  this  combination  of  openness 
and  reserve,  friendliness  and  unapproachableness,  was 
that  his  boyhood  and  youth  had  been  spent  wholly 
among  books.  That  life  had  trained  him  not  to  look 
to  others  for  amusement,  sympathy  or  counsel,  but  to 


62  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

depend  upon  himself.  As  his  temperament  was  open 
and  good-natured  and  sympathetic,  he  was  as  free  from 
enemies  and  enmities  as  he  was  from  friends  and 
friendships. 

Women  there  had  been — several  women,  a  success 
ion  of  idealizations  which  had  dispersed  in  the  strong 
light  of  his  common  sense.  He  had  never  disturbed 
himself  about  morals  in  what  he  regarded  as  the  limi 
ted  sense.  He  always  insisted  that  he  was  free  ;  and 
he  was  careful  only  of  his  personal  pride  and  of  taking 
no  advantage  of  another.  What  he  had  said  to  Alice 
about  marriage  was  true — as  to  his  intentions,  at 
least.  A  poor  woman,  he  felt,  he  could  not  marry  ;  a 
rich  woman,  he  felt,  he  would  not  marry.  And  he 
cared  nothing  about  marriage  because  he  was  never 
lonely,  never  leaned  or  wished  to  lean  upon  another, 
abhorred  the  idea  of  any  one  leaning  upon  him  ;  be 
cause  he  regarded  freedom  as  the  very  corner-stone  of 
his  scheme  of  life. 

The  nearest  he  had  come  to  companionship  was 
with  Alice.  With  the  other  women  whom  he  had 
known  in  various  degrees  from  warmth  to  white-heat, 
there  had  been  interruptions,  no  such  constant  freedom 
of  access,  no  such  intermingling  of  daily  life.  Her  he 
had  seen  at  all  hours  and  in  all  circumstances.  She 
never  disturbed  him  but  was  ready  to  talk  when  he 
wished  to  listen,  listened  eagerly  when  he  talked. 


IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND.  63 

and  was  silent  and  beautiful  and  restful  to  look  at 
when  he  wished  to  indulge  in  the  dissipation  of  mental 
laziness. 

As  she  loved  him,  she  showed  him  only  the  best 
that  there  was  in  her  and  showed  it  in  the  most  at 
tractive  of  all  lights. 

While  he  was  still  wavering  or  fancying  that  he  was 
wavering,  the  Managing  Editor  sent  him  to  "do"  a 
great  strike-riot  in  the  coal  regions  of  Pennsylvania. 
He  was  there  for  three  weeks,  active  day  and  night, 
interested  in  the  new  phases  of  life — the  mines  and  the 
miners,  the  display  of  fierce  passions,  the  excitement, 
the  peril. 

When  he  returned  to  New  York,  Alice  had  ceased 
to  tempt  him. 

********* 

One  midnight  in  the  early  spring  he  was  in  his  sit 
ting  room,  reading  and  a  little  bored.  There  came  a 
knock  at  the  door.  He  hoped  that  it  was  some  one 
bringing  something  interesting  or  coming  to  propose 
a  search  for  something  interesting.  "Come  in,"  he 
said  with  welcome  in  his  voice.  The  door  opened. 
It  was  Alice. 

She  was  dressed  much  as  she  had  been  the  first  time 
he  talked  with  her — a  loose,  clinging  wrapper  open  at 
the  throat.  There  was  a  change  in  her  face — a  change 
for  the  better  but  also  for  the  worse.  She  looked 


64  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

more  intelligent,  more  of  a  woman.  There  was  more 
sparkle  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  smile.  But — Howard 
saw  instantly  the  price  she  had  paid.  As  the  German 
had  suggested,  she  had  '*  got  on  up  town." 

She  was  pulling  at  the  long  broad  blue  ribbons  of 
her  negligee.  Her  hands  were  whiter  and  her  pink 
finger  nails  had  had  careful  attention.  She  smiled, 
enjoying  his  astonishment.  "  I  have  come  back," 
she  said. 

Howard  came  forward  and  took  her  hand.  "  I'm 
glad,  very  glad  to  see  you.  For  a  minute  I  thought  I 
was  dreaming." 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  I'm  in  my  old  room.  I  came 
this  afternoon.  I  must  have  been  asleep,  for  I  didn't 
hear  you  come  in." 

11 1  hope  it  isn't  bad  luck  that  has  flung  you  back 
here." 

"  Oh,  no.  I've  been  doing  very  well.  I've  been 
saving  up  to  come.  And  when  I  had  enough  to  last 
me  through  the  summer,  I — I  came." 

"  You've  been  at  work  ?  " 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  flushed.  And  her  fingers 
played  more  nervously  with  her  ribbons. 

"You  needn't  treat  me  as  a  child  any  longer,"  she 
said  at  last  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  I'm  eighteen  now  and — 
well,  I'm  not  a  child." 

Again  there  was  a  long  pause.     Howard,  watching 


IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND.  65 

her  downcast  face,  saw  her  steadying  her  expression  to 
meet  his  eyes.  When  she  looked,  it  was  straight  at 
him — appeal  but  also  defiance. 

"  I  don't  ask  anything  of  you,"  she  said,  "  we  are 
both  free.  And  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  was  sick  of 
all  those  others — up  there.  I've  never  had — had — 
this  out  of  my  mind.  And  I've  come.  And  I  can 
see  you  sometimes.  I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

Howard  went  over  to  the  window  and  stared  out 
into  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  leafy  Square. 
When  he  turned  again  she  had  lighted  and  was  smok 
ing  one  of  his  cigarettes. 

"Well,"  he  said  smiling  down  at  her,  "  Why  not? 
Put  on  a  street  gown  and  we'll  go  out  and  get  supper 
and  talk  it  over." 

She  sprang  up,  her  face  alight.  She  was  almost 
running  toward  the  door.  Midway  she  stopped, 
turned  and  came  slowly  back.  She  put  one  of  her 
arms  upon  his  shoulder — a  slender,  cool,  smooth, 
white  arm  with  the  lace  of  the  wide  sleeve  slipping 
away  from  it.  She  turned  her  face  up  until  her  mouth, 
like  a  jrosebud,  was  very  near  his  lips.  There  was 
appeal  in  her  eyes. 

"  I'm  very,  very  glad  to  see  you,"  Howard  said  as 
he  kissed  her. 


66  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

And  so  Howard's  life  was  determined  for  the  next 
four  years. 

He  worked  well  at  his  profession.  He  read  a  great 
deal.  He  wrote  fiction  and  essays  in  desultory 
fashion  and  got  a  few  things  printed  in  the  magazines. 
He  led  a  life  that  was  a  model  of  regularity.  But  he 
knew  the  truth — that  Alice  had  ended  his  career. 

He  was  content.  Ambition  had  always  been  vague 
with  him  and  now  his  habit  of  following  the  line  of 
least  resistance  had  drifted  him  into  this  mill-pond. 
Sometimes  ae  would  give  himself  up  to  bitter  self- 
reproach,  disgusted  that  he  should  be  so  satisfied,  so 
non-resisting  in  a  lot  in  every  way  the  reverse  of  that 
which  he  had  marked  out  for  himself.  If  he  had  been 
chained  he  might,  probably  would,  have  broken  away. 
But  Alice  never  attempted  to  control  him.  His  will 
was  her  law.  She  was  especially  shrewd  about  money 
matters,  so  often  the  source  of  disputes  and  estrange 
ments.  Two  months  after  she  reappeared,  she  pro 
posed  that  they  take  an  apartment  together. 

"  I  saw  one  to-day  in  West  Twelfth  Street  at  seventy 
dollars  a  month,"  she  said,  "  and  I'm  sure  I  could 
manage  it  so  that  you  would  be  much  better  off  than 
you  are  now." 

He  viewed  this  plan  with  suspicion.  It  definitely 
committed  him  to  a  mode  of  life  which  he  had  always 
regarded  as  degrading  both  to  the  man  and  the  wo- 


IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND.  67 

man  and  as  certain  of  a  calamitous  ending.  So  he 
made  excuses  for  delay,  fully  intending  never  to  yield. 
But  although  Alice  did  not  speak  of  her  plan  again, 
he  found  himself  more  and  more  attracted  by  it, 
caught  himself  speculating  about  various  apartments 
he  happened  to  see  as  he  went  about  the  streets.  She 
must  have  been  conscious  of  what  was  going  on  in  his 
mind  ;  for  when,  a  month  after  she  had  spoken,  he 
said  abruptly :  "  Where  was  that  apartment  you 
saw  ?  "  she  went  straight  on  discussing  the  details  as 
if  there  had  been  no  interval.  She  was  ready  to  act. 

The  apartment  was  taken  in  her  name — Mrs.  Cam- 
mack,  the  "  Mrs."  being  necessary  to  account  for  him. 
They  selected  the  furniture  together,  he  as  interested 
as  she  and  very  pleased  to  find  that  she  had  the  same 
good  taste  in  those  matters  that  she  had  in  dress. 
She  took  all  the  troubles  and  annoyances  upon  her 
self.  When  she  invited  him  to  assist  in  the  arrange 
ment,  it  was  in  matters  that  amused  him  and  at  times 
when  she  was  sure  he  had  nothing  else  to  do.  It  is 
not  strange  that  he  got  a  wholly  false  idea  of  the  diffi 
culties  of  setting  up  an  establishment. 

After  a  month  of  selecting  and  discussing,  of  plea 
sure  in  the  new  experience,  pleasure  in  Alice's  enthusi 
asm  and  excitement  and  happiness,  he  found  himself 
master  of  five  attractive  and  comfortable  rooms,  his 
clothing,  his  books,  all  his  belongings  properly  ar- 


68  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

ranged.     The  door  was  opened  for  him  by  a  cleanlook- 
ing  coloured  maid,  with  a  tiny  white  cap  on  her  head. 

As  he  looked  around  and  then  at  the  beautiful  face 
with  the  wistful,  gold-brown  eyes  so  anxiously  follow 
ing  his  wandering  glance,  he  was  very  near  to  loving 
her.  Indeed,  he  was  like  a  husband  who  has  left  out 
that  period  of  passionate  love  which  extends  into 
married  life  until  it  gives  place  to  boredom,  or  to  dis 
like,  or  to  some  such  sympathetic  affection  as  he 
felt  for  Alice.  "It  is  just  this  that  holds  me,"  he 
thought,  in  his  infrequent  moods  of  dissatisfaction. 
"  If  we  quarrelled  or  if  there  were  any  deep  feeling  on 
my  side,  I  should  not  be  in  this  mess.  I  should  be  " — 
Well,  where  would  he  be  ?  "  Probably  worse  off,"  he 
usually  added. 

Certainly  he  could  not  have  been  freer,  for  she 
never  questioned  him  ;  and,  if  she  was  ever  uneasy  or 
jealous  when  he  came  in  late — for  him — without  telling 
her  where  he  had  been,  she  never  showed  it.  She 
had  no  friends,  and  he  often  wondered  how  she  passed 
the  time  when  he  was  not  with  her.  Whenever  he 
inquired  he  got  the  same  answer :  She  had  been  busy 
ing  herself  with  their  home;  she  had  been  planning 
to  save  money  or  to  make  him  more  comfortable  ;  she 
had  been  reading  to  improve  her  mind  and  to  enable 
herself  to  start  him  talking  on  subjects  that  i 
ested  him. 


IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND.  69 

No  matter  how  unexpectedly  he  looked  in  upon 
her  life  or  her  mind,  he  found — himself. 

One  day  she  said  to  him — it  was  after  two  years  of 
this  life :  "  Something  is  worrying  you.  Is  it  about 
me  ?  You  look  at  me  so  queerly  at  times." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  about  you.  Tell  me, 
Miss  Black-Hair,  do  you  never  think  of  getting  old  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  smiled.  "  I  shall  wait  until  I  am  twenty- 
five  before  I  begin  to  think  of  that." 

"  But  don't  you  see  that  this  sort  of  thing  must 
stop  sometime?  It  is  unjust  to  you.  When  I  think 
of  it,  I  reproach  myself  for  permitting  us  to  get  into  it." 

"  I  am  happy,"  she  said,  looking  straight  at  him, 
terror  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  you  have  no  friends  ?  " 

"Who  has?     And  what  do  I  want  with  friends?" 

"  But  don't  you  see,  I  can't  introduce  you  to  any 
body.  I  can't  talk  about  you  to  the  people  I  know. 
I  am  always  having  to  explain  you  away,  always  hav 
ing  to  act  as  if  I  were  ashamed  of  this,  my  real  life. 
At  times  I  am  Anglo-Saxon  enough  to  be  really 
ashamed  of  it.  And  I  ought  to  be  and  am  ashamed 
of  myself." 

"  Don't  let's  talk  about  it.  You  and  I  understand. 
Why  should  wa  bother  about  the  rest  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  No,  we  must  talk  about  it.  I  have  been  going 
over  it  carefully.  We  must — must  be  married." 


70  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  hers.  She  blushed  deeply 
and  lowered  her  head.  A  tear  dropped  upon  the 
front  of  her  gown  and  hung  glittering  in  the  meshes 
of  the  white  lace.  She  crept  into  his  arms  and  buried 
her  face  upon  his  shoulder  and  sobbed.  He  had 
never  seen  her  even  look  like  tears  before. 

"We  must  be  married,"  he  repeated,  patting  her 
on  the  shoulder. 

She  shook  her  head  in  negation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  firmly,  mentally  noting  that  this 
was  the  very  first  time  he  had  ever  caught  her  in  a 
pretense. 

"  No."  Her  tone  was  as  firm  as  his.  She  lifted 
her  head  and  put  her  cheek  against  his.  "  It  makes 
me  very  proud  that  you  ask  it.  But — I — I  do  not " 

"  Do  not— what  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  want — I  will  not — risk  losing  you." 

"  But  you  won't  lose  me.  You  will  have  me  more 
than  ever." 

"  Some  men — yes.     But  not  you." 

"  And  why  not  I,  O  Wisdom  ?  " 

"Because — because — do  you  think  I  have  watched 
you  all  this  time,  without  learning  something  about 
you  ?  The  way  to  keep  you  is  to  leave  you  free.  I 
do  not  want  your  name.  I  do  not  want  your  friends 
I  do  not  want  to  be  respectable.  I  want — just  you." 

"  But  are  we  not  as  good  as  married  now  ?  " 


IN  A  BOHEMIAN  QUICKSAND.  71 

"  Yes— that's  it.  And  I  want  it  to  keep  on.  I 
never  cared  for  anybody  until  I  saw  you.  I  shall 
never  care  for  anybody  else.  I  never  shall  try.  I 
want  you  as  long  as  I  can  have  you.  And  then " 

"  And  then,"  Howard  laughed  or  rather,  pretended 
to  laugh,  "  and  then,  '  Oh,  dig  me  a  grave  both  wide 
and  deep,  wide  and  deep.'  How  like  twenty-years-old 
that  is." 

She  seemed  not  to  hear  his  jest  and  presently  went 
on  :  "  Do  you  remember  the  evening  before  I  left, 
down  there  at  Mrs.  Sands's  ?  " 

"  The  night  you  proposed  to  me  ?  "  Howard  said, 
pulling  her  ear. 

She  smiled  faintly  and  continued  :  "  I  thought  it 
all  out  that  night.  I  intended  to  come  back  just  as  I 
did.  I  went  deliberately.  I " 

Howard  put  his  hand  over  her  lips. 

"  O,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  anything,"  said  she, 
evading  his  fingers.  "  Only  this — that  I  understood 
you  then,  understood  just  why  you  would  never 
marry.  Not  so  clearly  as  I  understand  it  now,  but 
still  I — understood.  And  you  have  been  teaching  me 
ever  since,  teaching  me  manners,  teaching  me  how  to 
read  and  think  and  talk.  And  more  than  all,  you've 
taught  me  your  way  of  looking  at  life." 

Howard  held  her  away  from  him  and  studied  her 
face,  surprise  in  his  eyes.  "  Isn't  it  strange  ?  "  he  said. 


72  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Here  I've  been  seeing  you  day  after  day  all  this 
time,  have  had  a  chance  to  know  you  better  than  I 
ever  knew  any  one  in  my  life,  have  had  you  very  near 
to  me  day  and  night.  And  just  now,  as  I  look  at  you, 
I  see  the  real  you  for  the  first  time  in  two  years." 

"  I  have  been  wondering  when  you  would  look  at 
me  again,"  said  Alice  with  a  small,  sly  smile. 

"  Why,  you  are  a  woman  grown.  Where  is  the 
little  girl  I  knew,  the  little  girl  who  used  to  look  up 
tome?" 

"  Oh,  she's  gone  these  two  years.  She  proposed  to 
you  and,  when  you  refused  her,  she — died." 

"  Yes — we  must  be  married,"  Howard  went  on. 
"  Why  not  ?  It  is  more  convenient,  let  us  say." 

Alice  shook  her  head  and  put  her  cheek  against  his 
again  and  clasped  his  fingers  in  hers.  "  No,  my 
instinct  is  against  it.  Some  day — perhaps.  But  not 
now,  not  now.  I  want  you.  I  want  only  you.  Wre 
are  together  out  here — out  beyond  the  pale.  Inside, 
others  would  come  in  and — and  surely  come  between 
us.  I  want  no  others — none/' 


VII. 

A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT. 

HOWARD  was  now  thirty  years  old.  Park  Row  had 
long  ceased  talking  of  him  as  a  "  coming  man." 
While  his  style  of  writing  was  steadily  improving,  he 
wrote  with  no  fixed  aim,  wrote  simply  for  the  day,  for 
the  newspaper  which  dies  with  the  day  of  its  date. 
Some  of  his  acquaintances  wondered  why  a  man  of 
such  ability  should  thus  stand  still.  The  less  observ 
ant  spoke  of  him  as  an  impressive  example  of  the 
"  journalistic  blight."  Those  who  looked  deeper  saw 
the  truth — a  dangerous  facility,  a  perilous  inertia,  a  fatal 
entanglement.  Facility  enabled  him  to  earn  a  good 
living  with  ease,  working  as  he  chose.  Inertia  pre 
vented  him  from  seeking  opportunities  for  advance 
ment.  Entanglement  shut  him  off  from  the  men  and 
women  of  his  own  kind  who  would  have  thrust  oppor 
tunities  upon  him  and  compelled  him. 

Howard  himself  saw  this  clearly  in  his  occasional 
moods  of  self-criticism.  But  as  he  saw  no  remedy,  he 
raged  intermittently  and  briefly,  and  straightway 
relapsed.  Vanity  supplied  him  with  many  excuses 
and  consolations.  Was  he  not  one  of  the  best  report 
ers  in  the  profession  ?  Where  was  there  another, 


74  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

where  indeed  in  any  profession  were  there  many  of 
his  age,  making  five  thousand  a  year  ?  Was  he  not 
always  improving  his  mind?  Was  he  not  more  and 
more  careful  in  his  personal  habits  ?  Was  he  not 
respected  by  all  who  knew  him  ;  looked  upon  as  a 
successful  man  ;  regarded  by  those  with  whom  he 
came  in  daily  contact  as  a  leader  in  the  profession,  a 
model  for  style,  a  marvel  for  facility  and  versatility 
and  for  the  quantity  of  good  "copy"  he  could  turn 
out  in  a  brief  time  ?  But  with  all  the  soothings  of 
vanity  he  never  could  quite  hide  from  himself  that  his 
life  was  a  failure  up  to  that  moment. 

"Why  try  to  lie  to  myself?  "he  thought.  "It's 
never  a  question  of  what  one  has  done  but  always  of 
what  one  could  have  and  should  have  done.  I  am 
thirty  and  I  have  been  marking  time  for  at  least  four 
years.  Preparing  by  study  and  reading?  Yes,  but 
not  preparing  for  anything." 

On  the  whole  he  was  glad  that  Alice  had  refused 
to  marry  him.  Her  reason  was  valid.  But  there  was 
another  which  he  thought  she  did  not  see.  He  was 
deceived  as  to  the  depth  of  her  insight  because  he 
did  not  watch  her  closely.  He  had  no  suspicion  how 
many,  many  times,  in  their  moments  of  demonstra- 
tiveness,  she  listened  for  those  words  which  never 
came,  listened  and  turned  away  to  hide  from  him  the 
disappointment  in  her  eyes. 


A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT.          75 

He  did  not  love  her — and  she  knew  it.  She  did  not 
inspire  ambition  in  him — and  she  knew  it.  She 
simply  kept  him  comfortable  and  contented.  She 
simply  prevented  his  amatory  instincts  from  gathering 
strength  vigorously  to  renew  that  search  which  men 
and  women  keep  up  incessantly  until  they  find  what 
they  seek.  She  knew  this  also  but  never  permitted 
herself  to  see  it  clearly. 

He  was  pleased  with  her  but  not  proud  of  her. 
He  was  not  exactly  ashamed  of  his  relation  with  her 
but — well,  he  never  relaxed  his  precautions  for  keep 
ing  it  conventionally  concealed.  He  still  had  a  room 
at  his  club  and  occupied  it  occasionally.  He  laughed 
at  himself,  despised  himself  in  a  gentle,  soothing  way. 
But  he  excused  himself  to  himself  with  earnestness 
despite  his  sarcasms  at  his  own  expense.  And  for 
the  most  of  the  time  he  was  content — so  well,  so 
comfortably  content  that  if  his  mind  had  not  been  so 
nervously  active  he  would  have  taken  on  the  form  and 
look  of  settled  middle-life. 

There  was  just  the  one  saving  quality — his  mental 
alertness.  All  his  life  he  had  had  insatiable  intellectual 
curiosity.  It  had  kept  him  from  wasting  his  time  at 
play  when  he  was  a  boy.  It  had  kept  him  from 
plunging  deeply  into  dissipation  when  youth  was  hot  in 
his  veins.  It  was  now  keeping  him  from  the  sluggard's 
fate. 


76  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

#*•*###### 

On  the  last  day  of  January — six  weeks  after  his  thirti 
eth  birthday — he  came  home  earlier  than  usual,  as  they 
were  going  to  the  theatre  and  were  to  dine  at  seven. 
He  found  Alice  in  bed  and  the  doctor  sitting  beside  her. 

"  You'll  have  to  get  some  one  else  to  go  with  you, 
I'm  afraid,"  she  said  with  good-humoured  resignation, 
a  trifle  over-acted.  "  My  cold  is  worse  and  the  doctor 
says  I  must  stay  in  bed." 

"  Nothing  serious?"  Howard  asked  anxiously,  for 
her  cheeks  were  flaming. 

"  Oh,  no.  Just  the  cold.  And  I  am  taking  care  of 
myself." 

He  accompanied  the  doctor  to  the  door  of  the 
apartment.  At  the  threshold  the  doctor  whispered  : 
"  Make  some  excuse  and  come  to  my  office.  I  wish  to 
see  you  particularly." 

He  grew  pale.  "  Don't  let  her  see,"  urged  the 
doctor.  He  went  back  to  Alice,  sick  at  heart.  "  I 
must  go  out  and  arrange  for  some  one  else  to  do  the 
play  for  me,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  spend  the  evening 
with  you.'' 

She  protested,  but  faintly.  He  went  to  the  doctor's 
office. 

"  She  must  go  south  at  once,"  he  began,  after  looking 
at  Howard  steadily  and  keenly.  *'  Nothing  can  save 
her  life.  That  may  prolong  it." 


A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT.          77 

Howard  seemed  not  to  understand. 

"  She  must  go  to-morrow  or  she'll  be  gone  forever 
in  ten  days." 

"  Impossible,"  Howard  said  in  a  dull,  dazed  tone. 

"  At  once,  I  tell  you — at  once." 

"Impossible,"  Howard  repeated.  He  was  saying 
to  himself,  "  And  only  this  afternoon  I  wished  I  were 
free  and  wondered  how  I  could  free  myself."  He 
laughed  strangely. 

"  Impossible,"  he  said  again.  And  again  he 
laughed.  The  room  swam  around.  He  stood  up. 
"  Impossible !  "  he  said  a  fourth  time,  almost  shouting 
it.  And  he  struck  the  doctor  full  in  the  face,  reeled 
and  fell  headlong  to  the  floor.  When  he  recovered 
consciousness  he  was  lying  on  a  lounge,  the  doctor's 
assistant  standing  beside  him. 

"  I  must  go  to  her,"  he  exclaimed  and  sat  up.  He 
saw  the  doctor  a  few  feet  away,  holding  a  cloth  odorous 
of  arnica  to  his  cheek.  Howard  remembered  and 
began,  "  I  beg  your  pardon," — The  doctor  interrupted 
with  :  "  Not  at  all.  I've  had  many  queer  experiences 
but  never  one  like  that."  But  Howard  had  ceased  to 
hear.  He  was  staring  vacantly  at  the  floor,  repeating 
to  himself,  "  And  I  wished  to  be  free.  And  I  am  to 
be  free." 

"  You  must  go  back  to  her.  Take  her  south  to 
morrow.  Asheville  is  the  best  place." 


78  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Howard  was  on  his  way  to  the  door.  "  We  shall 
go  by  the  first  train,"  he  said. 

"  Pardon  me  for  telling  you  so  abruptly,"  said  the 
doctor,  following  him.  *'  But  I  saw  that  you  weren't — 
that  is  I  couldn't  help  noticing  that  you  and  she  were 
— And  usually  the  man  in  such  cases — well,  my  sym 
pathy  is  for  the  woman." 

"  Do  you  think  a  man  voluntarily  lives  with  a  woman 
because  he  hates  her?"  Howard  asked,  with  an  angry 
sneer.  He  bowed  coldly  and  was  gone. 

As  he  looked  at  Alice  he  saw  that  it  was  of  no  use 
to  try  to  deceive  her.  "  We  must  go  South  in  the 
morning,"  he  almost  whispered,  taking  her  hand  and 
kissing  it  again  and  again,  slowly  and  gently. 

The  next  day  but  one  they  were  at  Asheville  and  two 
weeks  later  Howard  could  not  hide  from  himself  that 
she  would  soon  be  gone. 


Her  bed  was  drawn  up  to  the  open  window  and  she 
was  propped  with  pillows.  A  mild  breeze  was  flooding 
the  room  with  the  odours  of  the  pine  forests  and  the 
gardens.  She  looked  out,  dilated  her  nostrils  and  her 
eyes. 

"  Beautiful !  "  she  murmured.  "  It  is  so  easy  to  die 
here." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  in  his. 


A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT.          79 

"  I  want  you,  my  Alice."  He  was  looking  into  her 
eyes  and  she  into  his.  "  I  need  you.  I  can't  do 
without  you." 

She  smiled  with  an  expression  of  happiness.  "  Is  it 
wrong,"  she  asked,  "  to  take  pleasure  in  another's 
pain?  I  see  that  you  are  in  pain,  that  you  suffer. 
And,  oh,  it  makes  me  happy,  so  happy." 

"  Don't,"  he  begged.     "  Please  don't." 

"  But  listen,"  she  went  on.  "  Don't  you  see  why  ? 
Because  I — because  I  love  you.  There,"  she  was 
smiling  again.  "  I  promised  myself  I  never,  never 
would  say  it  first.  And  I've  broken  my  word." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  For  nearly  four  years — all  the  years  I've  really 
lived — I  have  had  only  one  thought — my  love  for 
you.  But  I  never  would  say  it,  never  would  say  '  I 
love  you,'  because  I  knew  that  you  did  not  love  me." 

He  was  beginning  to  speak  but  she  lifted  her  hand 
to  his  lips.  Then  she  put  it  back  in  his  and  pushed 
her  fingers  up  his  coat-sleeve  until  they  were  hidden, 
resting  upon  his  bare  arm. 

"  No,  you  did  not."  Her  voice  was  low  and  the 
words  came  slowly.  "  But  since  we  came  here,  you 
have  loved  me.  If  I  were  to  get  well,  were  to  go 
back,  you  would  not.  Ah,  if  you  knew,  if  you  only 
knew  how  I  have  wanted  your  love,  how  I  have  lain 
awake  night  after  night,  hour  after  hour,  whispering 


8o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

under  my  breath  '  I  love  you.    I  love  you.     Why  do 
you  not  love  me  ?  ' 

Howard  put  his  head  down  so  that  his  face  was  hid 
from  her  in  her  lap. 

"After  the  doctor  had  talked  to  me  a  few  minutes, 
had  asked  me  a  few  questions,"  she  went  on, "  I  knew. 
And  I  was  not  sorry.  It  was  nearly  over,  anyhow, 
dear.  Did  you  know  it  ?  I  often  wondered  if  you 
did.  Yes,  I  saw  many  little  signs.  I  wouldn't  admit 
it  to  myself  until  this  illness  came.  Then  I  confessed 
it  to  myself.  And  I  was  not  sorry  we  were  to  part 
this  way.  But  I  did  not  expect  " — and  she  drew  a 
long  breath — "  happiness  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested,  lifting  his  face  and  looking 
at  her.  She  drank  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes — the 
love,  the  longing,  the  misery — as  if  it  had  been  a 
draught  of  life. 

"  Ah,  you  make  me  so  happy,  so  happy.  How 
much  I  owe  to  you.  Four  long,  long,  beautiful  years. 
How  much  !  How  much  !  And  at  last — love  !  " 

There  was  silence  for  several  minutes.  Then  he 
spoke :  "  I  loved  you  from  the  first,  I  believe.  Only 
I  never  appreciated  you.  I  was  so  self-absorbed.  And 
you — you  fed  my  vanity,  never  insisted  upon  your 
self." 

"  But  we  have  had  happiness.  And  no  one,  no  one, 
no  one  will  ever  be  to  you  what  I  have  been." 


A  LITTLE  CANDLE  GOES  OUT.          81 

"  I  love  you."  Howard's  voice  had  a  passionate 
earnestness  in  it  that  carried  conviction.  "  The  light 
goes  out  with  you." 

"  With  this  little  candle  ?  No,  no,  dear — my  dear. 
You  will  be  a  great  man.  You  will  not  forget ;  but 
you  will  go  on  and  do  the  things  that  I'm  afraid  I 
didn't  help,  maybe  hindered,  you  in  trying  to  do. 
And  you  will  keep  a  little  room  in  your  heart,  a  very 
little  room.  And  I  shall  be  in  there.  And  you'll 
open  the  door  every  once  in  a  while  and  come  in  and 
take  me  in  your  arms  and  kiss  me.  And  I  think — 
yes,  I  feel  that — that  I  shall  know  and  thrill." 

Her  voice  sank  lower  and  lower  and  then  her  eyes 
closed,  and  presently  he  called  the  nurse. 

The  next  day  he  rose  from  his  bed,  just  at  the  con 
necting  door  between  his  room  and  hers,  and  looked 
in  at  her.  The  shades  were  drawn  and  only  a  faint 
light  crept  into  the  room.  He  thought  he  saw  her 
stir  and  went  nearer. 

"  Why,  they've  made  you  very  gay  this  morning," 
he  laughed,  "with  the  red  ribbons  at  your  neck." 

There  was  no  answer.  He  came  still  nearer.  The 
red  ribbons  were  long  streamers  of  blood.  She  was 
dead. 


VIII. 

A  STRUGGLE  FOR  SELF-CONTROL. 

HE  left  her  at  Asheville  as  she  wished — "  where  I 
have  been  happiest  and  where  I  wish  you  to  think  of 
me."  On  the  train  coming  north  he  reviewed  his 
past  and  made  his  plans  for  the  future. 

As  to  the  past  he  had  only  one  regret — that  he  had 
not  learned  to  appreciate  Alice  until  too  late.  He  felt 
that  his  failure  to  advance  had  been  due  entirely  to 
himself — to  his  inertia,  his  willingness  to  seize  any  pre 
text  for  refraining  from  action.  As  to  the  future — 
work,  work  with  a  purpose.  His  mind  must  be  fully 
and  actively  occupied.  There  must  be  no  leisure,  for 
leisure  meant  paralysis. 

At  the  Twenty-third  Street  ferry-house  he^ot  into 
a  hansom  and  gave  the  address  of  "  the  flat."  He  did 
not  note  where  he  was  until  the  hansom  drew  up  at 
the  curb.  He  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  the  house 
— at  their  windows  with  the  curtains  which  she  had 
draped  so  gracefully,  which  she  and  he  had  selected 
at  Vantine's  one  morning.  How  often  he  had  seen 
her  standing  between  those  curtains,  looking  out  for 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  SELF-CONTROL.      83 

him,  her  blue-black  hair  waving  back  from  her  fore 
head  so  beautifully  and  her  face  ready  to  smile  so 
soon  as  ever  she  should  catch  sight  of  him. 

He  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  The  blood 
was  pounding  through  his  temples  and  his  eyeballs 
seemed  to  be  scalding  under  the  lids. 

"  Never  again,"  he  moaned.     "  How  lonely  it  is." 

The  cabman  lifted  the  trap.     "  Here  we  are,  sir." 

"  Yes— in  a  moment."  Where  should  he  go  ?  But 
what  did  it  matter?  "To  a  hotel,"  he  said.  "The 
nearest." 

"  The  Imperial  ?  " 

"  That  will  do— yes— go  there." 

He  resolved  never  to  return  to  "  the  flat."  On  the 
following  day  he  sent  for  the  maid  and  arranged  the 
breaking  up.  He  gave  her  everything  except  his 
personal  belongings  and  a  few  of  Alice's  few  posses 
sions — those  he  could  keep,  and  those  which  he  must 
destroy  because  he  could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
any  one  having  them. 

At  the  office  all  understood  his  mourning;  but  no 
one,  not  even  Kittredge,  knew  him  well  enough  to 
intrude  beyond  gentler  looks  and  tones.  Kittredge 
had  written  a  successful  novel  and  was  going  abroad 
for  two  years  of  travel  and  writing.  Howard  took  his 
rooms  in  the  Royalton.  They  dined  together  a  few 
nights  before  he  sailed. 


84  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  And  now,"  said  Kittredge,  "  I'm  my  own  master. 
Why,  I  can't  begin  to  fill  the  request  for  *  stuff.'  I 
can  go  where  I  please,  do  as  I  please.  At  last  I  shall 
work.  For  I  don't  call  the  drudgery  done  under  com 
pulsion  work." 

"  Work  !  "  Howard  repeated  the  word  several  times 
absently.  Then  he  leaned  forward  and  said  with  what 
was  for  him  an  approach  to  the  confidential :  "  What 
a  mess  I  have  been  making  of  my  life !  What  waste  ! 
What  folly  !  I've  behaved  like  a  child,  an  impulsive, 
irresponsible  child.  And  now  I  must  get  to  work, 
really  to  work." 

"  With  your  talents  a  year  or  so  of  work  would  free 
you." 

"  Oh,  I'm  free."  Howard  hesitated  and  flushed. 
"Yes,  I'm  free,"  he  repeated  bitterly.  "  We  are  all 
free  except  for  the  shackles  we  fasten  upon  ourselves 
and  can  unlock  for  ourselves.  I  don't  agree  with  you 
that  earning  one's  daily  bread  is  drudgery." 

"  Well,  let's  see  you  work — work  for  something  defi 
nite.  Why  don't  you  try  for  some  higher  place  on 
the  paper — correspondent  at  Washington  or  London 
— no,  not  London,  for  that  is  a  lounging  job  which 
would  ruin  even  an  energetic  man.  Why  not  try  for 
the  editorial  staff?  They  ought  to  have  somebody 
upstairs  who  takes  an  interest  in  something  besides 
politics." 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  SELF-CONTROL.      85 

"  But  doesn't  a  man  have  to  write  what  he  doesn't 
believe  ?  You  know  how  Segur  is  always  laughing  at 
the  protection  editorials  he  writes,  although  he  is  a 
free-trader." 

"  Oh,  there  must  be  many  directions  in  which  the 
paper  is  free  to  express  honest  opinions." 

Howard  began  that  very  night.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  his  club  where  he  was  living  for  a  few  days  he 
sat  down  to  the  file  of  the  News-Record  and  began  to 
study  its  editorial  style  and  method.  He  had  learned 
a  great  deal  before  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
had  written  a  short  editorial  on  a  subject  he  took 
from  the  news.  In  the  morning  he  read  his  article 
again  and  decided  that  with  a  few  changes — adjectives 
cut  out,  long  sentences  cut  up,  short  sentences  made 
shorter  and  the  introduction  and  the  conclusion  omit 
ted — it  would  be  worth  handing  in.  With  the  cor 
rected  article  in  his  hand  he  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  editor's  room. 

It  was  a  small,  plainly  furnished  office — no  carpet, 
three  severe  chairs,  a  revolving  book  case  with  a  bat 
tered  and  dusty  bust  of  Lincoln  on  it,  a  table  strewn 
with  newspaper  cuttings.  Newspapers  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  were  scattered  about  the  floor.  At  the 
table  sat  the  editor,  Mr.  Malcolm,  whom  Howard  had 
never  before  seen. 

He  was  short  and  slender,  with  thin  white  hair  and 


86  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

a  smooth,  satirical  face,  deeply  wrinkled  and  un 
healthily  pale.  He  was  dressed  in  black  but  wore  a 
string  tie  of  a  peculiarly  lively  shade  of  red.  His 
most  conspicuous  feature  was  his  nose — long,  narrow, 
pointed,  sarcastic. 

"  My  name  is  Howard,"  began  the  candidate,  all  but 
stammering  before  Mr.  Malcolm's  politely  uninterested 
glance,  "and  I  come  from  downstairs." 

"  Oh — so  you  are  Mr.  Howard.  I've  heard  of  you 
often.  Will  you  be  seated  ?  " 

"  Thank  you — no.  I've  only  brought  in  a  little  article 
I  thought  I'd  submit  for  your  page.  I'd  like  to  write 
for  it  and,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  bring  in  an  article 
occasionally." 

"  Glad  to  have  it.  We  like  new  ideas ;  and  a  new 
pen,  a  new  mind,  ought  to  produce  them.  If  you 
don't  see  your  articles  in  the  paper,  you'll  know  what 
has  happened  to  them.  If  you  do,  paste  them  on  space 
slips  and  send  them  up  by  the  boy  on  Thursdays." 
Mr.  Malcolm  nodded  and  smiled  and  dipped  his  pen 
in  the  ink-well. 

The  editorial  appeared  just  as  Howard  wrote  it.  He 
read  and  reread  it,  admiring  the  large,  handsome 
editorial  type  in  which  it  was  printed,  and  deciding 
that  it  was  worthy  of  the  excellent  place  in  the 
column  which  Mr.  Malcolm  had  given  it.  He  wrote 
another  that  very  day  and  sent  it  up  by  the  boy.  He 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  SELF-CONTROL.      87 

found  it  in  his  desk  the  next  noon  with  "  Too  ab 
stract — never  forget  that  you  are  writing  for  a  news 
paper  "  scrawled  across  the  last  page  in  blue  pencil. 

In  the  two  following  months  Howard  submitted 
thirty-five  articles.  Three  were  published  in  the  main 
as  he  wrote  them,  six  were  "  cut  "  to  paragraphs,  one 
appeared  as  a  letter  to  the  editor  with  "  H  "  signed  to 
it.  The  others  disappeared.  It  was  not  encouraging, 
but  Howard  kept  on.  He  knew  that  if  he  stopped 
marching  steadily,  even  though  hopelessly,  toward  a 
definite  goal,  a  heavy  hand  would  be  laid  upon  his 
shoulder  to  drag  him  away  and  fling  him  down  upon 
a  grave. 

As  it  was,  desperately  though  he  fought  to  refrain 
from  backward  glances,  he  was  now  and  again  taken 
off  his  guard.  A  few  of  her  pencil  marl^s  on  the  margin 
of  a  leaf  in  one  of  his  books  ;  a  gesture,  a  little 
mannerism  of  some  woman  passing  him  in  the  street — 
and  he  would  be  ready  to  sink  down  with  weariness 
and  loneliness,  like  a  tired  traveller  in  a  vast  desert. 

He  completely  lost  self-control  only  once.  It  was 
a  cold,  wet  May  night  and  everything  had  gone  against 
him  that  day.  He  looked  drearily  round  his  rooms 
as  he  came  in.  How  stiff,  how  forbidding,  how  des 
ert  they  seemed !  He  threw  himself  into  a  big  chair. 

"  No  friends,"  he  thought,  "  no  one  that  cares  a  rap 
whether  I  live  or  die,  suffer  or  am  happy.  Nothing  to 


88  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

care  for.  Why  do  I  go  on  ?  What's  the  use  if  one 
has  not  an  object — a  human  object  ?" 

And  their  life  together  came  flooding  back — her 
eyes,  her  kisses,  her  attentions,  her  passionate  love  for 
him,  so  pervasive  yet  so  unobtrusive ;  the  feeling  of 
her  smooth,  round  arm  about  his  neck ;  her  way  of 
pressing  close  up  to  him  and  locking  her  fingers  in  his  ; 
the  music  of  her  voice,  singing  her  heartsong  to  him 
yet  never  putting  it  into  words 

He  stumbled  over  to  the  divan  and  stretched  himself 
out  and  buried  his  face  in  the  cushions.  "  Come  back !  " 
he  sobbed.  "  Come  back  to  me,  dear."  And  then  he 
cried,  as  a  man  cries — without  tears,  with  sobs  choking 
up  into  his  throat  and  issuing  in  moans. 

"  Curious,"  he  said  aloud  when  the  storm  was  over 
and  he  was  sitting  up,  ashamed  before  himself  for  his 
weakness,  "  who  would  have  suspected  me  of  this  ?  " 


IX. 

AMBITION  AWAKENS. 

HOWARD  was  now  thirty-two.  He  was  still  trying 
for  the  editorial  staff;  but  in  the  last  month  only  five 
of  his  articles  had  been  printed  to  twenty-three 
thrown  away.  A  national  campaign  was  coming  on 
and  the  News-Record  was  taking  a  political  stand  that 
seemed  to  him  sound  and  right.  For  the  first  time  he 
tried  political  editorials. 

The  cause  aroused  his  passion  for  justice,  for  demo 
cratic  equality  and  the  abolition  of  privilege.  He  had 
something  to  say  and  he  succeeded  in  saying  it 
vigorously,  effectively,  with  clearness  and  modera 
tion  of  statement.  How  to  avoid  hysteria  ;  how  to  set 
others  on  fire  instead  of  only  making  of  himself  a  fiery 
spectacle ;  how  to  be  earnest,  yet  calm ;  how  to  be 
satirical  yet  sincere  ;  how  to  be  interesting,  yet  direct 
— these  were  his  objects,  pursued  with  incessant  toil 
ing,  rewriting  again  and  again,  recasting  of  sentences, 
careful  balancing  of  words  for  exact  shades  of  meaning. 

"  I  shall  never  learn  to  write,"  had  been  his  complaint 
of  himself  to  himself  for  years.  And  in  these  days  it 


90  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

seemed  to  him  that  he  was  farther  from  a  good  style 
than  ever.  His  standards  had  risen,  were  rising;  he 
feared  that  his  power  of  accomplishment  was  failing. 
Therefore  his  heart  sank  and  his  face  paled  when  an 
office  boy  told  him  that  Mr.  Malcolm  wished  to  see  him. 

"  I  suppose  it's  to  tell  me  not  to  annoy  him  with 
any  more  of  my  attempts,"  he  thought.  "  Well,  any 
way,  I've  had  the  benefit  of  the  work.  I'll  try  a  novel 
next." 

"  Take  a  seat,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm  with  an  absent 
nod.  "  Just  a  moment,  if  you  please." 

On  a  chair  beside  him  was  the  remnant  of  what  had 
been  a  huge  up-piling  of  newspapers — the  exchanges 
that  had  come  in  during  the  past  twenty-four  hours. 
The  Exchange  Editor  had  been  through  them  and 
Mr.  Malcolm  was  reading  "  to  feel  the  pulse  of  the 
country  "  and  also  to  make  sure  that  nothing  of 
importance  had  been  overlooked. 

On  the  floor  were  newspapers  by  the  score,  thrown 
about  tumultuously.  Mr.  Malcolm  would  seize  a  paper 
from  the  unread  heap,  whirl  it  open  and  send  his 
glance  and  his  long  pointed  nose  tearing  down  one 
column  and  up  another,  and  so  from  page  to  page.  It 
took  less  than  a  minute  for  him  to  finish  and  fling 
away  great  sixteen  page  dailies.  A  few  seconds  suf 
ficed  for  the  smaller  papers.  Occasionally  he  took  his 
long  shears  and  with  a  skilful  twist  cut  out  a  piece 


AMBITION  AWAKENS.  91 

from  the  middle  of  a  page  and  laid  it  and  the  shears 
upon  the  table  with  a  single  motion. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Howard."  Malcolm  sent  the  last  paper 
to  increase  the  chaos  on  the  floor  and  faced  about  in 
his  revolving  chair.  "  How  would  you  like  to  come  up 
here?" 

Howard  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  You 
mean " 

"  We  want  you  to  join  the  editorial  staff.  Mr. 
Walker  has  married  him  a  rich  wife  and  is  going 
abroad  to  do  literary  work,  which  means  that  he  is 
going  to  do  nothing.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  It  is  what  I  have  been  working  for/' 

"  And  very  hard  you  have  worked."  Mr.  Malcolm's 
cold  face  relaxed  into  a  half-friendly,  half-satirical 
smile.  "After  you'd  been  sending  up  articles  for  a 
fortnight,  I  knew  you'd  make  it.  You  went  about  it 
systematically.  An  intelligent  plan,  persisted  in,  is 
hard  to  beat  in  this  world  of  laggards  and  hap-hazard 
strugglers." 

"  And  I  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up — that  is,  giving 
up  this  particular  ambition,"  Howard  confessed. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it  in  your  articles — a  certain  pessimism 
and  despondency.  You  show  your  feelings  plainly, 
young  man.  It  is  an  excellent  quality — but  dangerous. 
A  man  ought  to  make  his  mind  a  machine  working 
evenly  without  regard  to  his  feelings  or  physical  con- 


92  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

dition.  The  night  my  oldest  child  died — I  was  editor 
of  a  country  newspaper — I  wrote  my  leaders  as 
usual.  I  never  had  written  better.  You  can  be 
absolute  master  inside,  if  you  will.  You  can  learn 
to  use  your  feelings  when  they're  helpful  and  to  shut 
them  off  when  they  hinder." 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  temperament " 

"  Temperament — that's  one  of  the  subtlest  forms  of 
self-excuse.  However,  the  place  is  yours.  The 
salary  is  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  a  week — an 
advance  of  about  twelve  hundred  a  year,  I  believe, 
on  your  average  downstairs.  Can  you  begin  soon  ?  " 

"  Immediately,"  said  Howard,  "  if  the  City  Editor  is 
satisfied." 

An  office  boy  showed  him  to  his  room — a  mere 
hole-in-the-wall  with  just  space  for  a  table-desk,  a 
small  table,  a  case  of  shelves  for  books  of  reference, 
and  two  chairs.  The  one  window  overlooked  the 
lower  end  of  Manhattan  Island — the  forest  of  business 
buildings  peaked  with  the  Titan-tenements  of  fi 
nancial  New  York.  Their  big,  white  plumes  of  smoke 
and  steam  were  waving  in  the  wind  and  reflecting 
in  pale  pink  the  crimson  of  the  setting  sun. 

Howard  had  his  first  taste  of  the  intoxication  of 
triumph,  his  first  deep  inspiration  of  ambition.  He 
recalled  his  arrival  in  New  York,  his  timidity,  his 
dread  lest  he  should  be  unable  to  make  a  living — 


AMBITION  AWAKENS.  93 

"  Poor  boy,"  they  used  to  say  at  home,  "  he  will  have 
to  be  supported.  He  is  too  much  of  a  dreamer." 
He  remembered  his  explorations  of  those  now  familiar 
streets — how  acutely  conscious  he  had  been  that  they 
were  paved  with  stone,  walled  with  stone,  roofed  with 
a  stony  sky,  peopled  with  faces  and  hearts  of  stone. 
How  miserably  insignificant  he  had  felt ! 

And  all  these  years  he  had  been  almost  content  to 
be  one  of  the  crowd,  like  them  exerting  himself 
barely  enough  to  provide  himself  with  the  essentials 
of  existence.  Like  them,  he  had  given  no  real 
thought  to  the  morrow.  And  now,  with  comparatively 
little  labour,  he  had  put  himself  in  the  way  to  become 
a  master,  a  director  of  the  enormous  concentrated 
energies  summed  up  in  the  magic  word  New  York. 

The  key  to  the  situation  was — work,  incessant,  self- 
improving,  self-developing.  "  And  it  is  the  key  to 
happiness  also,"  he  thought.  "  Work  and  sleep — the 
two  periods  of  unconsciousness  of  self — are  the  two 
periods  of  happiness." 

His  aloofness  freed  him  from  the  temptations  of 
distraction.  He  knew  no  women.  He  did  not  put 
himself  in  the  way  of  meeting  them.  He  kept  away 
from  theatres.  He  sunk  himself  in  a  routine  of  labour 
which,  viewed  from  the  outside,  seemed  dull  and 
monotonous.  Viewed  from  his  stand-point  of  ac 
quisition,  of  achievement,  it  was  just  the  reverse. 


94  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

The  mind  soon  adapts  itself  to  and  enjoys  any  mental 
routine  which  exercises  it.  The  only  difficulty  is  in 
forming  the  habit  of  the  routine. 

Howard  was  greatly  helped  by  his  natural  bent 
toward  editorial  writing.  The  idea  of  discussing  im 
portant  questions  each  day  with  a  vast  multitude  as  an 
audience  stirred  his  imagination  and  aroused  his  in 
stincts  for  helping  on  the  great  world-task  of  elevating 
the  race.  This  enthusiasm  pleased  and  also  amused 
his  cynical  chief. 

"  You  believe  in  things  ? "  Malcolm  said  to  him 
after  they  had  become  well  acquainted.  "  Well,  it  is 
an  admirable  quality — but  dangerous.  You  will  need 
careful  editing.  Your  best  plan  is  to  give  yourself  up 
to  your  belief  while  you  are  writing — then  to  edit 
yourself  in  cold  blood.  That  is  the  secret  of  success, 
of  great  success  in  any  line,  business,  politics,  a 
profession — enthusiasm,  carefully  revised  and  edited." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  be  cold  blooded  when  one  is  in 
earnest." 

"True,"  Malcolm  answered,  "and  there  is  the 
danger.  My  own  enthusiasms  are  confined  to  the  im 
portant  things — food,  clothing  and  shelter.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  rest  is  largely  a  matter  of  taste,  training 
and  time  of  life.  But  don't  let  me  discourage  you.  I 
only  suggest  that  you  may  have  to  guard  against 
believing  so  intensely  that  you  produce  the  impression 


AMBITION  AWAKENS.  95 

of  being  an  impracticable,  a  fanatic.  Be  cautious 
always  ;  be  especially  cautious  when  you  are  cocksure 
you're  right.  Unadulterated  truth  always  arouses 
suspicion  in  the  unaccustomed  public.  It  has  the 
alarming  tastelessness  of  distilled  water." 

Howard  was  acute  enough  to  separate  the  wisdom 
from  the  cynicism  of  his  chief.  He  saw  the  lesson  of 
moderation.  "  You  have  failed,  my  very  able  chief," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  because  you  have  never  believed 
intensely  enough  to  move  you  to  act.  You  have 
attached  too  much  importance  to  the  adulteration — 
the  folly  and  the  humbug.  And  here  you  are,  still 
only  a  critic,  destructive  but  never  constructive." 

At  first  his  associates  were  much  amused  by  his 
intensity.  But  as  he  learned  to  temper  and  train  his 
enthusiasm  they  grew  to  respect  both  his  ability  and 
his  character.  Before  a  year  had  passed  they  were 
feeling  the  influence  of  his  force — his  trained,  in 
formed  mind,  made  vigorous  by  principles  and  ideals. 

Malcolm  had  the  keen  appreciation  of  a  broad  mind 
for  this  honest,  intelligent  energy.  He  used  the 
editorial  "  blue-pencil  "  for  alteration  and  condensation 
with  the  hand  of  a  master.  He  cut  away  Howard's 
crudities,  toned  down  and  so  increased  his  intensity, 
and  pointed  it  with  the  irony  and  satire  necessary  to 
make  it  carry  far  and  penetrate  easily. 

Malcolm  was  at    once  giving  Howard  a  reputation 


96  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

greater  than  he  deserved  and  training  him  to  deserve 
it. 


In  the  office  next  to  Howard's  sat  Segur,  a  bachelor 
of  forty-five  who  took  life  as  a  good-humoured  jest 
and  amused  his  leisure  with  the  New  Yorkers  who 
devote  a  life  of  idleness  to  a  nervous  flight  from  bore 
dom.  Howard  interested  Segur  who  resolved  to  try 
to  draw  him  out  of- his  seclusion. 

"  I'm  having  some  people  to  dinner  at  the  Waldorf 
on  Thursday,"  he  said,  looking  in  at  the  door. 
"  Won't  you  join  us  ?  " 

"I'd  be  glad  to,"  replied  Howard,  casting  about 
for  an  excuse  for  declining.  "  But  I'm  afraid  I'd  ruin 
your  dinner.  I  haven't  been  out  for  years.  I've  been 
too  busy  to  make  friends  or,  rather,  acquaintances." 

"A  great  mistake.  You  ought  to  see  more  of 
people." 

"Why?  Can  they  tell  me  anything  that  I  can't 
learn  from  newspapers  or  books  more  accurately  and 
without  wasting  so  much  time?  I'd  like  to  know 
the  interesting  people  and  to  see  them  in  their 
interesting  moments.  But  I  can't  afford  to  hunt  for 
them  through  the  wilderness  of  nonentities  and  wait 
for  them  to  become  interesting." 

"  But  you  get  amusement,  relaxation.  Then  too, 
it's  first-hand  study  of  life." 


AMBITION  AWAKENS.  97 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that.  Yawning  is  not  a  very 
attractive  kind  of  relaxation,  is  it  ?  And  as  for  study 
of  life,  eight  years  of  reporting  gave  me  more  of  that 
than  I  could  assimilate.  And  it  was  study  of  realities, 
not  of  pretenses.  As  I  remember  them,  '  respectable  ' 
people  are  all  about  the  same,  whether  in  their  vices 
or  in  their  virtues.  They  are  cut  from  a  few  familiar, 
'old  reliable '  patterns.  No,  I  don't  think  there  is 
much  to  be  learned  from  respectability  on  dress 
parade." 

"  You'll  be  amused  on  Thursday.  You  must  come. 
I'm  counting  on  you." 

Howard  accepted — cordially  as  he  could  not  refuse 
decently.  Yet  he  had  a  presentiment  or  a  shyness  or 
an  impatience  at  the  interruption  of  his  routine  which 
reproached  him  for  accepting  with  insistence  and 
persistence. 


X. 

THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE. 

IT  was  the  first  week  in  November,  and  in  those  days 
"  everybody  "  did  not  stay  in  the  country  so  late  as 
now.  There  were  many  New  Yorkers  in  the  crowd 
of  out-of-town  people  at  the  Waldorf.  Howard  was 
attracted,  fascinated  by  the  scene — carefully-groomed 
men  and  women,  the  air  of  gaiety  and  ease,  the  flowers, 
the  music,  the  lights,  the  perfumes.  At  a  glance  it 
seemed  a  dream  of  life  with  evil  and  sorrow  and  pain 
banished. 

"No  place  for  a  working  man,"  thought  he,  "at 
least  not  for  my  kind  of  a  working  man.  It  appeals 
too  sharply  to  the  instincts  for  laziness  and  luxury." 

He  was  late  and  stood  in  the  entrance  to  the  palm- 
garden,  looking  about  for  Segur.  Soon  he  saw  him 
waving  from  a  table  near  the  wall  under  the  music- 
alcove. 

"  The  oysters  are  just  coming,"  said  Segur.  "  Sit 
over  there  between  Mrs.  Carnarvon  and  Miss  Trevor. 
They  are  cousins,  Howard,  so  be  cautious  what  you  say 
to  one  about  the  other.  Oh,  here  is  Mr.  Berersford." 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.  99 

The  others  knew  each  other  well ;  Howard  knew 
them  only  as  he  had  seen  their  names  in  the  "  fash 
ionable  intelligence "  columns  of  the  newspapers. 
Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  a  small  thin  woman  in  a  black 
velvet  gown  which  made  her  thinness  obtrusive  and 
attractive  or  the  reverse  according  as  one's  taste  is 
toward  or  away  from  attenuation.  Her  eyes  were 
a  dull,  greenish  grey,  her  skin  brown  and  smooth  and 
tough  from  much  exposure  in  the  hunting  field.  Her 
cheeks  were  beginning  to  hang  slightly,  so  that  one 
said  :  "  She  is  pretty,  but  she  will  soon  not  be."  Her 
mouth  proclaimed  strong  appetites — not  unpleas 
antly  since  she  was  good-looking. 

Miss  Trevor  was  perhaps  ten  years  younger  than 
her  cousin,  not  far  from  twenty-four.  She  had  a  criti 
cal,  almost  amused  yet  not  unpleasant  way  of  looking 
out  of  unusually  clear  blue-green  eyes.  Her  hair  was 
of  an  ordinary  shade  of  dark  brown,  but  fine  and  thick 
and  admirably  arranged  to  set  off  her  long,  sensitive, 
high  bred  features.  Her  chin  and  mouth  expressed 
decision  and  strong  emotions. 

There  was  a  vacant  chair  between  Segur  and  Berers- 
ford  and  it  was  presently  filled  by  a  fat,  middle-aged 
woman,  neither  blonde  nor  brunette,  with  a  large, 
serene  face.  Upon  it  was  written  a  frank  confession 
that  she  had  never  in  her  life  had  an  original  thought 
capable  of  creating  a  ripple  of  interest.  She  was 


ioo  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Mrs.  Sidney,  rich,  of  an  "  old  "  family  — in  the  New 
York  meaning  of  the  word  "  old  " — both  by  marriage 
and  by  birth,  much  courted  because  of  her  position  and 
because  she  entertained  a  great  deal  both  in  town  and 
at  a  large  and  hospitable  country  house. 

The  conversation  was  lively  and  amused,  or  seemed 
to  amuse,  all.  It  was  purely  personal — about  Kittie 
and  Nellie  and  Jim  and  Peggie  and  Amy  and  Bob; 
about  the  sayings  and  doings  of  a  few  dozen  people 
who  constituted  the  intimates  of  these  five  persons. 

Mrs.  Carnarvon  turned  to  the  silent  Howard  at  last 
and  began  about  the  weather. 

"  Horrible  in  the  city,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is,"  replied  Howard.  "  But  I 
fancied  it  delightful.  You  see  I  have  not  lived  any 
where  but  New  York  for  so  long  that  I  am  hardly 
capable  to  judge." 

"  Why  everybody  says  we  have  the  worst  climate  in 
the  world." 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  contradict  everybody.  But 
for  me  New  York  has  the  ideal  climate.  Isn't  it  the 
best  of  any  great  city  in  the  world  ?  You  see,  we  have 
the  air  of  the  sea  in  our  streets.  And  when  the  sun 
shines,  which  it  does  more  days  in  the  year  than  in  any 
other  great  city,  the  effect  is  like  champagne — or 
rather,  like  the  effect  champagne  looks  as  if  it  ought 
to  have." 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          101 

"  I  hate  champagne,"  said  Mrs.  Carnarvon.  "  Marian, 
you  must  not  drink  it ;  you  know  you  mustn't." 
This  to  Miss  Trevor  who  was  lifting  the  glass  to 
her  lips.  She  drank  a  little  of  the  champagne,  then 
set  the  glass  down  slowly. 

"  What  you  said  made  me  want  to  drink  it,"  she 
said  to  Howard.  "  I  was  glad  to  hear  your  lecture  on 
the  weather.  I  had  never  thought  of  it  before,  but 
New  York  really  has  a  fine  climate.  And  only  this 
afternoon  I  let  that  stupid  Englishman — Plymouth — 
you've  met  him  ?  No  ? — Well,  at  any  rate,  he  was  de 
nouncing  our  climate  and  for  the  moment  I  forgot 
about  London." 

"  Frightful  there,  isn't  it,  after  October  and  until 
May  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  air  is  usually  stale  even  in  the  late 
spring.  Wrhen  it's  warm,  it's  sticky.  And  when  it's 
cold,  it's  raw." 

"  You  are  a  New  Yorker  ?  " 

''Yes,"  said  Miss  Trevor  faintly,  and  for  an  instant 
showing  surprise  at  his  ignorance.  "  That  is,  I  spend 
part  of  the  winter  here — like  all  New  Yorkers." 

"All?" 

"  Oh,  all  except  those  who  don't  count,  or  rather, 
who  merely  count." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  Howard  was  taking  ad 
vantage  of  her  looking  into  her  plate  to  smile  with  a 


102  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

suggestion  of  irony.  She  happened  to  glance  up  and 
so  caught  him. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  smiling  with  frank  irony  at  him, 
"  I  mean  all  those  people — the  masses,  I  think  they're 
called — the  people  who  have  to  be  fussed  over  and 
reformed  and  who  keep  shops  and — and  all  that." 

"  The  people  who  work,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  I  mean  the  people  you  never  meet  about  any 
where,  the  people  who  read  the  newspapers  and  come 
to  the  basement  door." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand."  Howard  was  laughing. 
"Well,  that's  one  way  of  looking  at  life.  Of  course 
it's  not  my  way." 

"  What  is  your  way  ?  " 

"  Why,  being  one  of  those  who  count  only  in  the 
census,  I  naturally  take  a  view  rather  different  from 
yours.  Now  I  should  say  that  your  people  don't 
count.  You  see,  I  am  most  deeply  interested  in  people 
who  read  newspapers." 

"Oh,  you  write  for  the  papers,  like  Jim  Segur? 
What  do  you  write  ?  " 

"  What  they  call  editorials." 

"You  are  an  editor?" 

"Yes  and  no.  I  am  one  of  the  editors  who  does  not 
edit  but  is  edited." 

"It  must  be  interesting,"  said  Miss  Trevor,  vaguely. 

"  More    interesting   than   you    imagine.     But  then 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.  103 

all  work  is  that.  In  fact  work  is  the  only  permanently 
interesting  thing  in  life.  The  rest  produces  dissatis 
faction  and  regret." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  so  very  dissatisfied.  Yet  I  don't  work." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?     Think  how  hard  you  work 

at  being  fitt&d  for  gowns,  at  going  about  to  dinners 

and  balls  and  the  like,  at  chasing  foxes  and  anise  seed 

bags  and  golf  balls." 

"  But  that  is  not  work.     It  is  amusing  myself." 
"  Yes,  you  think  so.     But  you  forget  that  you  are 
doing  it  in  order  that  all  these  people  who  don't  count 
may  read  about   it  in  the  papers  and  so  get  a  little 
harmless  relaxation." 

"  But  we  don't  do  it  to  get  into  the  papers." 
"  Probably  not.  Neither  did  this — what  is  it  here 
in  my  plate,  a  lamb  chop  ? — this  lamb  gambol  about 
and  keep  itself  in  condition  to  form  a  course  at 
Segur's  dinner.  But  after  all,  wasn't  that  what  it  was 
really  for  ?  Then  think  how  many  people  you  support 
by  your  work." 

"  You  make  me  feel  like  a  day-labourer." 
"  Oh,  you're  a  much  harder  worker  than  any  day 
labourer.  And  the  saddest  part  of  it  to  me  is  that 
you  work  altogether  for  others.  You  give,  give  and 
get  in  return  nothing  but  a  few  flattering  glances,  a 
few  careless  pats  on  the  back  of  your  vanity.  I 
should  hate  to  work  so  hard  for  so  little." 


104  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"But  what  would  you  do?"  Miss  Trevor  was 
looking  at  him,  interested  and  amused. 

"  Well,  I'd  work  for  myself.  I'd  insist  on  a  return, 
on  getting  back  something  equivalent  or  near  it.  I'd 
insist  on  having  my  mind  improved,  or  having  my 
power  or  my  reputation  advanced." 

"  I  was  only  jesting  when  I  said  that  about  people 
not  counting." 

"Altogether?" 

"  No,  not  altogether.  I  don't  care  much  about  the 
masses.  They  seem  to  me  to  be  underbred,  of  a  dif 
ferent  sort.  I  hate  doing  things  that  are  useful  and  I 
hate  people  that  do  useful  things — in  a  general  way,  I 
mean." 

"That  is  doubtless  due  to  defective  education," 
said  Howard,  with  a  smile  that  carried  off  the  thrust 
as  a  jest. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you'd  describe  a  horror  of  con 
tact  with — well,  with  unpleasant  things?"  Miss 
Trevor  was  serious. 

"  But  is  it  that  ?  Isn't  it  just  an  unconscious  affec 
tation,  taken  up  simply  because  all  the  people  about 
you  think  that  way — if  one  can  call  the  process 
thinking?  You  don't  think,  do  you,  that  it  is  a  sign 
of  superiority  to  be  narrow,  to  be  ignorant,  to  be  out 
of  touch  with  the  great  masses  of  one's  fellow-beings, 
to  play  the  part  of  a  harlequin  or  a  ballet-girl  on  the 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          105 

stage  of  life  ?  I  understand  how  a  stupid  ass  can 
fritter  away  his  one  chance  to  live  in  saying  and 
hearing  and  doing  silly  things.  But  ought  not  an 
intelligent  person  try  to  enjoy  life,  try  to  get  some 
thing  substantial  out  of  it,  try  to  possess  himself  of 
its  ideas  and  emotions  ?  Why  should  one  play  the 
fool  simply  because  those  about  one  are  incapable  of 
playing  any  other  part  ?  " 

11  I'm  surprised  that  you  are  here  to-night.  Still,  I 
suppose  you'll  give  yourself  absolution  on  the  plea 
that  one  must  dine  somewhere." 

"  But  I'm  not  wasting  my  time.  I'm  learning.  I'm 
observing  a  phase  of  life.  And  I'm  seeing  the  latest 
styles  in  women's  gowns  and " 

"  Is  that  important — styles,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  my  kind  of  people,  the  work 
ing  classes,  would  spend  so  much  time  and  thought 
in  making  anything  that  was  not  important  ?  There 
is  nothing  more  important." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  we  women  are  wasting  time 
;when  we  talk  about  dress  so  much  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  an  evidence  of  your  superior 
sagacity.  Women  talk  trade,  '  shop,'  as  soon  as  they 
get  away  from  the  men.  They  talk  men  and  dress — 
fish  and  nets." 

Berersford  heard  the  word  fish  and  interrupted. 

"  Do  you  go  South  next  month,  Marian  ?  " 


106  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

«  Yes — about  the  fifteenth."  Miss  Trevor  explained 
to  Howard  :  "  Bobby — Mr.  Berersford  here — always 
fishes  in  Florida  in  January." 

The  conversation  again  became  general  and  per 
sonal.  Howard  knew  none  of  the  people  of  whom 
they  were  talking  and  all  that  they  said  was  of  the 
nature  of  gossip.  But  they  talked  in  a  sparkling  way, 
using  good  English,  speaking  in  agreeable  voices  with 
a  correct  accent,  and  indulging  in  a  great  deal  of 
malicious  humour. 

As  they  separated  Mrs.  Sidney,  to  whom  Howard 
had  not  spoken  during  the  evening,  said  to  Segur : 
"  You  must  bring  Mr.  Howard  on  Sunday  afternoon." 

"Will  you  drop  Marian  at  the  house  for  me?" 
Mrs.  Carnarvon  asked  her.  "  I  want  to  go  on  to 
Edith's." 

Segur  went  with  Mrs.  Sidney  and  Marian  to 
their  carriage.  "  Who  is  Mr.  Howard  ?  "  Mrs.  Sidney 
said,  and  Miss  Trevor  drew  nearer  to  hear  the  answer. 

"  One  of  the  editorial  writers  down  on  the  paper 
and  a  very  clever  one — none  better.  He  works  hard 
and  is  desperately  serious  and  a  regular  hermit." 

"  I  think  he's  very  handsome — don't  you,  Marian  ?  " 

"  I  found  him  interesting,"  said  Miss  Trevor. 

Howard  thought  a  great  deal  about  Miss  Trevor 
that  night,  and  she  was  still  in  his  head  the  next  day. 
"  This  comes  of  never  seeing  women,"  he  said  to  him- 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          107 

self.  "  The  first  girl  I  meet  seems  the  most  beauti 
ful  I  ever  saw,  and  the  most  intellectual.  And,  when 
I  think  it  over,  what  did  she  say  that  was  startling  ?  " 

Nevertheless  he  went  with  Segur  the  next  Sunday 
to  Mrs.  Sidney's  great  house  in  the  upper  Avenue 
overlooking  the  Park. 

"  Why  do  I  come  here  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  It  is 
a  sheer  waste  of  time.  Mrs.  Sidney  can  do  me  no 
good,  or  I  her.  It  must  be  the  hope  of  seeing  Miss 
Trevor." 

When  the  gaudy  and  be-powdered  flunkey  held 
back  the  heavy  curtains  of  the  salon  to  announce  him 
and  Segur,  he  saw  Miss  Trevor  on  a  low  chair  absently 
staring  into  the  fire.  Yet  when  he  had  spoken  to 
Mrs.  Sidney  and  turned  toward  her  she  at  once 
stretched  out  her  hand  with  a  slight  smile.  Some 
others  came  in  and  Howard  was  free  to  talk  to  her. 
He  sat  looking  at  her  steadily,  admiring  her  almost 
perfect  profile,  delicate  yet  strong. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  I  saw  you?" 
Miss  Trevor  asked. 

"  Writing  little  pieces  about  politics  for  the  paper," 
replied  Howard. 

"  Politics?  I  detest  it.  It  is  all  stealing  and  calling 
names,  isn't  it  ?  And  something  dreadful  is  always 
going  to  happen  if  somebody  or  other  isn't  elected, 
or  is  elected,  to  something  or  other.  And  then,  whether 


io8  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

he  is  or  not,  nothing  happens.  I  should  think  the  men 
who  have  been  so  excited  and  angry  and  alarmed 
would  feel  very  cheap.  But  they  don't.  And  the  next 
time  they  carry  on  in  just  the  same  ridiculous  way." 

"  Politics  is  like  everything  else — interesting  if  you 
understand  what  it  is  all  about.  But  like  everything 
else,  you  can't  understand  it  without  a  little  study  at 
first.  It's  a  pity  women  don't  take  an  interest.  If 
they  did  the  men  might  become  more  reasonable  and 
sane  about  it  than  they  are  now.  But  you — what 
have  you  been  doing?" 

"  I — oh,  industriously  superintending  the  making  of 
my  new  nets."  Marian  laughed  and  Howard  was 
flattered.  "  And  also,  well,  riding  in  the  Park  every 
morning.  But  I  never  do  anything  interesting.  I 
simply  drift." 

"  That's  so  much  simpler  and  more  satisfactory  than 
threshing  and  splashing  about  as  I  do.  It  seems  so 
fussy  and  foolish  and  futile.  I  wish — that  is,  some 
times  I  wish — that  I  had  learned  to  amuse  myself  in 
some  less  violent  and  exhausting  way." 

"  Marian — I  say,  Marian,"  called  Mrs.  Sidney.  "  Has 
Teddy  come  down  ?  " 

Miss  Trevor  coloured  slightly  as  she  answered  :  "  No, 
he  comes  a  week  Wednesday.  He's  still  hunting." 

"Hunting,"  Howard  repeated  when  Mrs.  Sidney  was 
again  busy  with  the  others.  "  Now  there  is  a  kind  of 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          109 

work  that  never  bothers  a  man's  brains  or  sets  him  to 
worrying.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  amuse  myself  in 
some  such  way." 

"  You  should  go  about  more." 

"  Go— where  ?  " 

"  To  see  people." 

"  But  I  do  see  a  great  many  people.  I'm  always 
seeing  them — all  day  long." 

"  Yes — but  that  is  in  a  serious  way.  I  mean  go 
where  you  will  be  amused — to  dinners  for  instance." 

"  I  don't  dare.  I  can't  work  at  work  and  also  work 
at  play.  I  must  work  at  one  or  the  other  all  the  time. 
I  can  do  nothing  without  a  definite  object.  I  can't  be 
just  a  little  interested  in  anything  or  anybody.  With 
me  it  is  no  interest  at  all  or  else  absorption  until 
interest  is  exhausted." 

"Then  if  you  were  interested  in  a  woman,  let  us  say, 
you'd  be  absorbed  until  you  found  out  all  there  was, 
and  then  you'd — take  to  your  heels." 

"  But  she  might  always  be  new.  She  might  interest 
me  more  and  more.  Anyhow  I  fancy  that  she  would 
weary  of  me  long  before  I  wearied  of  her.  I  think 
women  usually  weary  first.  Men  are  very  monotonous. 
We  are  as  vain  as  women,  if  not  vainer,  without 
their  capacity  for  concealing  it.  And  vanity  makes 
one  think  he  does  not  need  to  exert  himself  to 
please." 


no  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  But  why  do  people  usually  say  that  it  is  the  men 
that  are  difficult  to  hold  ? ' 

"  Because  the  men  hold  the  women,  not  through  the 
kind  of  interest  we  are  talking  about,  but  through 
another  kind — quite  different.  Women  are  so  lazy 
and  so  dependent — dependent  upon  men  for  homes, 
for  money,  for  escort  even." 

Miss  Trevor  was  flushing,  as  if  the  fire  were  too  hot — 
at  least  she  moved  a  little  farther  away  from  it.  "  Your 
ideal  woman  would  be  a  shop-girl,  I  should  say  from 
what  you've  told  me." 

"  Perhaps — in  the  abstract.  I  really  do  think  that  if 
I  were  going  to  marry,  I  should  look  about  for  a 
working-girl,  a  girl  that  supported  herself.  How  can 
a  man  be  certain  of  the  love  of  a  woman  who  is 
dependent  upon  him  ?  I  should  be  afraid  she  was  only 
tolerating  me  as  a  labour-saving  device." 

Miss  Trevor  laughed.  "  There  certainly  is  no  vanity 
in  that  remark,"  she  said.  "  Now  I  can't  imagine 
most  of  the  men  I  know  thinking  that." 

"  It's  only  theory  with  me.  In  practice  doubtless  I 
should  be  as  self-complacent  as  any  other  man." 

They  left  Mrs.  Sidney's  together  and  Howard  walked 
down  the  Avenue  with  her.  It  seemed  a  wonder 
ful  afternoon — the  air  dazzling,  intoxicating.  He  was 
filled  with  the  joy  of  living  and  was  glad  this  particu 
lar  tall,  slender,  distinguished-looking  girl  was  there  to 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          in 

make  his  enjoyment  perfect.  They  were  gay  with 
the  delight  of  being  young  and  in  health  and  attrac 
tive  physically  and  mentally  each  to  the  other. 
They  looked  each  at  the  other  a  great  deal,  and  more 
and  more  frankly. 

"Am  I  never  to  see  you  again?"  he  asked  as  he 
rang  the  bell  for  her. 

"  I  believe  Mrs.  Carnarvon  is  going  to  invite  you  to 
dine  here  Thursday  night." 

"  Thank  you/'  said  Howard. 

Miss  Trevor  coloured.  But  she  met  his  glance 
boldly  and  laughed.  Howard  wondered  why  her 
laugh  was  defiant,  almost  reckless. 

•5f####-X-### 

He  saw  Segur  at  the  club  after  dinner  that  same 
night.  "And  how  do  you  like  Miss  Trevor?"  Segur 
began  as  the  whiskey  and  carbonic  were  set  before 
them. 

"  A  very  attractive  girl,"  said  Howard. 

"  Yes — so  a  good  many  men  have  thought  in  the 
last  five  years.  She's  marrying  Teddy  Danvers  in  the 
spring,  I  believe.  At  any  rate  it's  generally  looked 
on  as  settled.  Teddy's  a  good  deal  of  a  *  chump.'  But 
he's  a  decent  fellow — good-looking,  good-natured, 
domestic  in  his  tastes,  and  nothing  but  money." 

Howard  was  smiling  to  himself.  He  understood 
Miss  Trevor's  sudden  consciousness  of  the  nearness  of 


H2  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  fire,  her  flush  when  Mrs.  Sidney  asked  about 
"  Teddy,"  and  the  recklessness  in  her  parting  laugh. 

"  Well,  Teddy's  in  luck,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Not  so  sure  of  that.  She's  quite  capable  of  lead 
ing  him  a  dance  if  he  bores  her.  And  bore  her  he 
will.  But  that  is  nothing  new.  This  town  is  full  of  it." 

"Full  of  what?" 

"  Of  weary  women — weary  wives.  The  men  are 
hobby-riders.  They  have  just  one  interest  and  that 
usually  small  and  dull— stocks  or  iron  or  real  estate  or 
hunting  or  automobiles.  Our  women  are  not  like  the 
English  women — stupid,  sodden.  They  are  alive, 
acute.  They  wish  to  be  interested.  Their  husbands 
bore  them.  So — well,  what  is  the  natural  temptation 
to  a  lazy  woman  in  search  of  an  interest  ?  " 

"  It's  like  Paris — like  France  ?  " 

"  Yes,  something.  Except  that  perhaps  our  women 
are  more  sentimental,  not  fond  of  intrigue  for  its  own 
sake — at  least,  not  as  a  rule." 

"  Doesn't  interest  them  deeply  enough,  I  suppose. 
It's  the  American  blood  coming  out — the  passion  for 
achievement.  They  want  a  man  of  whom  they  can 
be  proud,  a  man  who  is  doing  something  interesting 
and  doing  it  well." 

"  I  doubt  that,"  replied  Segur  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders.  "  When  a  woman  loves  a  man,  she  wants  to 
absorb  him." 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          113 

Howard  soon  went  away  to  his  rooms  for  a  long 
evening  of  undisturbed  thought  about  Teddy  Dan- 
vers's  fiancee — the  first  temptation  that  had  entered 
his  loneliness  since  Alice  died. 

In  the  few  weeks  of  her  illness  and  the  few  months 
immediately  following  her  death,  he  had  been  at  his 
very  best.  He  was  able  to  see  her  as  she  was  and  to 
appreciate  her.  He  was  living  in  the  clear  pure  air  of 
the  Valley  of  the  Great  Shadow  where  all  things 
appear  in  their  true  relations  and  true  proportions. 
But  only  there  was  it  possible  for  the  gap  between 
him  and  Alice  to  close — that  gap  of  which  she  was 
more  acutely  conscious  than  he,  and  which  she  made 
wider  far  than  it  really  was  by  being  too  humble  with 
him,  too  obviously  on  her  knees  before  him.  Such 
superiority  as  she  thought  he  possessed  is  not  in 
human  nature ;  but  neither  is  it  in  human  nature  to 
refuse  worship,  to  refuse  to  pose  upon  a  pedestal  if  the 
opportunity  presses. 

In  the  three  years  between  her  death  and  his  meet 
ing  Marian,  the  eternal  masculine  had  been  secretly 
gaining  strength  to  resume  its  pursuit  of  the  eternal 
feminine.  And  the  eternal  feminine  was  certainly 
most  alluringly  personified  in  this  beautiful,  graceful 
girl,  at  once  appreciative  and  worthy  of  appreciation. 

Perhaps  she  appealed  most  strongly  to  Howard  in 
her  vivid  suggestion  of  the  open  air — of  health  and 


ii4  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

strength  and  nature.  He  had  been  leading  a  cloistered 
existence  and  his  blood  had  grown  sluggish.  She 
gave  him  the  sensation  that  a  prisoner  gets  when  he 
catches  a  glimpse  from  his  barred  window  of  the  fields 
and  the  streams  radiating  the  joy  of  life  and  free 
dom.  And  Marian  was  of  his  own  kind — like  the 
women  among  whom  he  had  been  brought  up.  She 
satisfied  his  idea  of  what  a  "  lady  "  should  be,  but  at  the 
same  time  she  was  none  the  less  a  woman  to  him — a 
woman  to  love  and  to  be  loved  ;  to  give  him  sympathy, 
companionship  ;  to  inspire  him  to  overcome  his  weak 
nesses  by  striving  to  be  worthy  of  her  ;  to  bring  into 
his  life  that  feminine  charm  without  which  a  man's 
life  must  be  cold  and  cheerless. 

He  knew  that  he  could  not  marry  her,  that  he  had 
no  right  to  make  love  to  her,  that  it  was  unwise  to  go 
near  her  again.  But  he  had  no  power  to  resist  the 
temptation.  And  even  in  those  days  he  had  small  re 
gard  for  the  means  when  the  end  was  one  upon  which 
he  had  fixed  his  mind.  "  Why  not  take  what  I  can 
get  ? "  he  thought,  as  he  dreamed  of  her.  "  She's 
engaged — her  future  practically  settled.  Yes,  I'll  be 
as  happy  as  she'll  let  me."*  And  he  resumed  his 
idealising. 

At  his  time  of  life  idealisation  is  still  not  a  difficult 
or  a  long  process.  And  in  this  case  there  was  an 
ample  physical  basis  for  it — and  far  more  of  a  mental 


THE  ETERNAL  MASCULINE.          115 

basis  than  young  imagination  demands.     He  took  the 
draught  she  so  frankly  offered  him  ;  he  added  a  love 
potion  of  his  own  concocting,  and  drank  it  off. 
He  was  in  love. 


XL 


TRESPASSING. 

FOR  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  in  newspaper 
work,  Howard  came  to  the  office  the  next  day  in  a 
long  coat  and  a  top  hat.  He  left  early  and  went  for 
a  walk  in  the  Avenue.  But  Miss  Trevor  was  neither 
driving  nor  walking.  He  repeated  this  excursion  the 
next  afternoon  with  better  success.  At  Fortieth 
Street  he  saw  her  and  her  cousin  half  a  block  ahead 
of  him.  He  walked  slowly  and  examined  her.  She 
was  satisfactory  from  the  aigrette  in  her  hat  to  her 
heels — a  long,  narrow,  graceful  figure,  dressed  with 
the  expensive  simplicity  characteristic  of  the  most 
intelligent  class  of  the  women  of  New  York  and 
Paris.  She  walked  as  if  she  were  accustomed  to  walk 
ing.  Mrs.  Carnarvon  had  that  slight  hesitation,  almost 
stumble,  which  indicates  the  woman  who  usually 
drives  and  never  walks  if  she  can  avoid  it.  As  they 
paused  at  the  crowded  crossing  of  Forty-second  Street 
he  joined  them.  When  Mrs.  Carnarvon  found  that 
he  was  "just  out  for  the  air"  she  left  them,  to  go 
home — in  Forty-seventh  Street,  a  few  doors  east  of 
the  Avenue. 


TRESPASSING.  117 

"  Come  back  to  tea  with  her,"  she  said  as  she  nod 
ded  to  Howard. 

<4  We  have  at  least  an  hour."  Howard  was  looking 
at  Miss  Trevor  with  his  happiness  dancing  in  his  eyes. 
"  Why  shouldn't  we  go  to  the  Park  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it's  not  customary,"  objected  Miss 
Trevor  in  a  tone  that  made  the  walk  in  the  Park  a 
certainty. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  I  don't  care  to  do  cus 
tomary  things  as  a  rule." 

"  I  see  that  you  don't." 

"  Do  you  say  so  because  I  show  what  I  am  think 
ing  so  plainly  that  you  can't  help  seeing  it — and 
don't  in  the  least  mind  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  be  glad  to  be  alive  and  to  be 
seeing  me  this  fine  winter  day  ?  " 

"  Why  indeed  !  "  Howard  looked  at  her  from  head 
to  foot  and  then  into  her  eyes. 

"  We  are  not  in  the  Park  yet."  Miss  Trevor  ac 
companied  her  hint  with  a  laugh  and  added  :  "  I  feel 
reckless  to-day." 

"  You  mean  you  forget  that  there  is  any  to-mor 
row.  /  have  shut  out  to-morrow  ever  since  I  saw 
you." 

"And  yesterday?"  She  noted  that  he  coloured 
slightly,  but  continued  to  look  at  her,  his  eyes  sad. 
"But  there  is  a  to-morrow,"  she  went  on. 


Ii8  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

« Yes — my  work,  my  career  is  my  to-morrow  and 
yours  is " 

"Well?" 

"Your  engagement,  of  course." 

Miss  Trevor  flushed,  but  Howard  was  smiling  and 
she  did  not  long  resist  the  contagion. 

"My  to-morrow,"  he  continued,  "is  far  more 
menacing  than  yours.  Yours  is  just  an  ordinary, 
every-day,  cut-and-dried  affair.  Mine  is  full  of  doubts 
and  uncertainties  with  the  chances  for  failure  and  dis 
appointment.  If  I  can  turn  my  back  on  my  to-morrow, 
surely  you  can  waive  yours  for  the  moment  ?  " 

"  But  why  are  you  so  certain  that  I  wish  to  ?  " 

"  Instinct.  I  could  not  be  so  happy  as  I  am  with 
you  if  you  were  not  content  to  have  me  here." 

They  spoke  little  until  they  were  well  within  the 
Park.  There  they  turned  down  a  by-path  and  took 
the  walk  skirting  the  lower  lake.  Miss  Trevor  looked 
at  Howard  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  I  never  met  any  one  like  you,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
always  felt  so  sure  of  myself.  You  take  me  off  my 
feet.  I  feel  as  if  I  did  not  know  where  I  was  going 
and — didn't  much  care.  And  that's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  No,  the  best  of  it.  You  are  a  star  going  com 
fortably  through  your  universe  in  a  fixed  orbit.  You 
maintain  your  exact  relations  with  your  brother  and 
sister  stars.  You  keep  all  your  engagements,  you 


TRESPASSING.  n^ 

never  wobble  in  your  path — everything  exact,  mathe 
matical.  And  up  darts  a  wild-haired,  impetuous  comet, 
a  hurrying,  bustling,  irregular  wanderer  coming  from 
you  don't  know  where,  going  you  don't  know  whither. 
We  pass  very  near  each  to  the  other.  The  social 
astronomers  may  or  may  not  note  a  little  variation 
in  your  movement — a  very  little,  and  soon  over. 
They  probably  will  not  note  the  insignificant  meteor 
that  darted  close  up  to  you — close  enough  to  get  his 
poor  face  sadly  scorched  and  his  long  hair  cruelly 
singed — and  then  hurried  sadly  away.  And " 

"  And — what  ?  Isn't  there  any  more  to  the  story  ?  " 
Marian's  eyes  were  shining  with  a  light  which  she  was 
conscious  had  never  been  there  before. 

"And — and "  Howard  stopped  and  faced  her. 

His  hands  were  thrust  deep  in  the  pockets  of  his 
overcoat.  He  looked  at  her  in  a  way  that  made  the 
colour  fly  from  her  face  and  then  leap  back  again. 
"And— I  love  you." 

"  Oh  " — Marian  said,  hiding  her  face  in  her  white 
muff.  ^Oh." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  touch  you,"  he  went  on,  "  I  just 
wish  to  look  at  you — so  tall,  so  straight,  so — so  alive, 
and  to  love  you  and  be  happy."  Then  he  laughed 
and  turned.  "  But  you'll  catch  cold.  Let  us  walk  on." 

"  So  you  are  trying  to  make  a  career  ?  "  she  asked 
after  a  few  minutes '  silence. 


120  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Yes — trying — or,  rather,  I  was.  And  shall  again 
when  you  have  gone  your  way  and  I  mine." 

Marian  was  amazed  at  herself.  Every  tradition, 
every  instinct  of  her  life  was  being  trampled  by  this 
unknown  whom  she  had  just  met.  And  she  was 
assisting  in  the  trampling.  In  fact  it  was  difficult 
for  her  to  restrain  herself  from  leading  in  the  icon- 
oclasm.  She  looked  at  him  in  wonder  and  delighted 
terror. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  way  ?  "  he  said, 
turning  his  head  suddenly. 

"  Because  you  are  stronger  than  I — and  I  am  afraid 
—yet  I— well— I  like  it." 

"  It  is  not  I  that  is  stronger  than  you,  nor  you  that 
are  stronger  than  I.  It  is  a  third  that  is  stronger  than 
both  of  us.  I  need  not  mention  the  gentleman's 
name  ?" 

"  It  is  not  necessary.  But  I'd  like  to  hear  you  pro 
nounce  it.  At  least  I  did  a  moment  ago." 

"  I'll  not  risk  repetition.  I've  been  thinking  of 
what  might  have  been." 

"  What  ?  "  Marian  laughed  a  little,  rather  satiri 
cally.  "  A  commonplace  engagement  and  a  common 
place  wedding  and  a  commonplace  honeymoon  leading 
into  a  land  of  commonplace  disillusion  and  yawning 
— or  worse  ?  " 

"  Not    unlikely.     But  since   we're   only   dreaming 


TRESPASSING.  121 

why  not  dream  more  to  our  taste  ?  Now  as  I  look  at 
your  strong,  clear,  ambitious  profile,  I  can  dream  of  a 
career  made  by  two  working  as  one,  working  cheerfully 
day  in  and  day  out,  fair  and  foul  weather,  working  with 
the  certainty  of  success  as  the  crown." 

"  But  failure  might  come." 

"  It  couldn't.  We  wouldn't  work  for  fame  or  for 
riches  or  for  any  outside  thing.  We  would  work  to 
make  ourselves  wiser  and  better  and  more  worthy 
each  of  the  other  and  both  of  our  great  love." 

Again  they  were  walking  in  silence. 

"  I  am  so  sad,"  Marian  said  at  last.  "  But  I  am  so 
happy  too.  What  has  come  over  me?  But — you 
will  work  on,  won't  you  ?  And  you  will  accomplish 
everything.  Yes,  I  am  sure  you  will." 

"  Oh,  I'll  work— in  my  own  way.  And  I'll  get  a 
good  deal  of  what  I  want.  But  not  everything.  You 
say  you  can't  understand  yourself.  No  more  can  I 
understand  myself.  I  thought  my  purpose  fixed.  I 
knew  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage,  so  I  kept  away  from  danger0  And 
here,  as  miraculously  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  dropped 
from  this  open  winter  sky,  here  is — you." 

They  were  in' the  Avenue  again — "  the  awakening," 
Howard  said  as  the  flood  of  carriages  rolled  about 
them. 

"  You    will   win,"  she    repeated,    when   they   were 


122  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

almost  at  Forty-seventh  Street.  "You  will  be 
famous." 

"  Probably  not.  The  price  for  fame  may  be  too 
big." 

"  The  price  ?     But  you  are  willing  to  work  ?  " 

"  Work — yes.  But  not  to  lie,  not  to  cheat,  not  to 
exchange  self-respect  for  self-contempt — at  least,  I 
think,  I  hope  not." 

"But  why  should  that  be  necessary?  " 

"  It  may  not  be  if  I  am  free — free  to  meet  every 
situation  as  it  arises,  with  no  responsibility  for  others 
resting  upon  me  in  the  decision.  If  I  had  a  wife,  how 
could  I  be  free?  I  might  be  forced  to  sell  myself — 
not  for  fame  but  for  a  bare  living.  Suppose  choice 
between  freedom  with  poverty  and  comfort  with  self- 
contempt  were  put  squarely  at  me,  and  I  a  married 
man.  She  would  decide,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  if  she  were  the  right  sort  of  a  woman, 
decide  instantly  for  self-respect." 

"  Of  course — if  I  asked  her.  But  do  you  imagine 
that  when  a  man  loves  a  woman  he  lets  her  know? " 

"  It  would  be  a  crime  not  to  let  her  know." 

"  It  would  be  a  greater  crime  to  put  her  to  the  test 
— if  she  were  a  woman  brought  up,  say,  as  you  have 
been." 

"How  can  you  say  that?  How  can  you  so  over 
estimate  the  value  of  mere  incidentals?  " 


TRESPASSING.  123 

"  How  can  I  ?  Because  I  have  known  poverty — 
have  known  what  it  was  to  look  want  in  the  face. 
Because  I  have  seen  women,  brought  up  as  you  have 
been,  crawling  miserably  about  in  the  sloughs  of 
poverty.  Because  I  have  seen  the  weaknesses  of 
human  nature  and  know  that  they  exist  in  me — yes, 
and  in  you,  for  all  your  standing  there  so  strong  and 
arrogant  and  self-reliant.  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  misery 
when  one  does  not  understand  it.  It  is  easy  to  be  the 
martyr  of  an  hour  or  a  day.  But  to  drag  into  a  sordid 
and  squalid  martyrdom  the  woman  one  loves — well,  the 
man  does  not  live  who  would  do  it,  if  he  knew  what  I 
know,  had  seen  what  I  have  seen.  No,  love  is  a  luxury 
of  the  rich  and  the  poor  and  the  steady-going.  It  is 
not  for  my  kind,  not  for  me." 

They  were  pausing  at  Mrs.  Carnarvon's  door. 

"  I  shall  not  come  in  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 
"  But  to-morrow — if  I  don't  come  in  to-day,  don't 
you  think  it  will  be  all  right  for  me  to  come 
then  ?  " 

"  I  shall  expect  you,"  she  said. 

The  talk  of  those  who  had  come  in  for  tea  seemed 
artificial  and  flat.  She  soon  went  up-stairs,  eager  to 
be  alone.  Mechanically  she  went  to  her  desk  to  write 
her  customary  daily  letter  to  Danvers.  She  looked 
vacantly  at  the  pen  and  paper,  and  then  she  remem 
bered  why  she  was  sitting  there. 


124  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  You  are  a  traitor,"  she  said  to  her  reflection  in  the 
mirror  over  the  desk.  "  But  you  will  pay  for  your 
treason.  Has  not  one  a  right  to  that  for  which  she  is 
willing  to  pay?  " 


XII. 

MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH. 

To  be  sure  of  a  woman  a  man  must  be  confident 
either  of  his  own  powers  or  of  her  absolute  frankness 
and  honesty.  It  was  self-assurance  that  made  Edward 
Danvers  blindly  confident  of  Marian. 

His  father,  a  man  with  none  but  selfish  uses  for  his 
fellow  men,  had  given  him  a  pains-taking  training  as  a 
vigilant  guard  for  a  great  fortune.  His  favourite 
maxim  was,  "  Always  look  for  motives."  And  he 
once  summed  up  his  own  character  and  idea  of  life  by 
saying :  "  I  often  wake  at  night  and  laugh  as  I  think 
how  many  men  are  lying  awake  in  their  beds,  schem 
ing  to  get  something  out  of  me  for  nothing." 

There  could  be  but  one  result  of  such  an  education 
by  such  an  educator.  Danvers  was  acutely  suspicious, 
saved  from  cynicism  and  misanthropy  by  his'  vanity 
only.  He  was  the  familiar  combination  of  credulity 
and  incredulity,  now  trusting  not  at  all  and  again 
trusting  with  an  utter  incapacity  to  judge.  Had  he 
been  far  more  attractive  personally,  he  might  still 
have  failed  to  find  genuine  affection.  To  be  liked  for 
one's  self  alone  or  even  chiefly  is  rarely  the  lot  of  any 
human  being  who  has  a  possession  that  is  all  but 


126  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

universally  coveted — wealth  or  position  or  power  or 
beauty. 

Danvers  and  Marian  had  known  each  the  other  from 
childhood.  And  she  perhaps  came  nearer  to  liking 
him  for  himself  than  did  any  one  else  of  his  acquaint 
ance.  She  was  used  to  his  conceit,  his  selfishness,  his 
meanness  and  smallness  in  suspicion,  his  arrogance, 
his  narrow-mindedness.  She  knew  his  good  qualities 
— his  kindness  of  heart,  his  shamed-face  generosity, 
his  honesty,  the  strong  if  limited  sense  of  justice  which 
made  him  a  good  employer  and  a  good  landlord. 
They  had  much  in  common — the  same  companions, 
the  same  idea  of  the  agreeable  and  the  proper,  the 
same  passion  for  out-door  life,  especially  for  hunting. 
He  fell  in  love  with  her  when  she  came  back  from  two 
years  in  England  and  France,  and  she  thought  that 
she  was  in  love  with  him.  She  undoubtedly  was 
fond  of  him,  proud  of  his  handsome,  athletic  look  and 
bearing,  proud  of  his  skill  and  daring  in  the  hunting 
field. 

One  day — it  was  in  the  autumn  a  year  before  How 
ard  met  her — they  were  "  in  at  the  death  "  together 
after  a  run  across  a  stiff  country  that  included  several 
dangerous  jumps.  "  You're  the  only  one  that  can 
keep  up  with  me,"  he  said,  admiring  her  glowing  face 
and  star-like  eyes,  her  graceful,  assured  seat  on  a 
hunter  that  no  one  else  either  cared  or  dared  to  ride. 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH.    127 

"You  mean  you  are  the  only  one  who  can  keep  up 
with  me,"  she  laughed,  preparing  for  what  his  face 
warned  her  was  coming. 

"  No  I  don't,  Marian  dear.  I  mean  that  we  ought 
to  go  right  on  keeping  up  with  each  other.  You 
won't  say  no,  will  you  ?  " 

Marian  was  liking  him  that  day — he  was  looking  his 
best.  She  particularly  liked  his  expression  as  he  pro 
posed  to  her.  She  had  intended  to  pretend  to  refuse 
him ;  instead  her  colour  rose  and  she  said  :  "  No — 
which  means  yes.  Everybody  expects  it  of  us, 
Teddy.  So  I  suppose  we  mustn't  disappoint  them." 

The  fact  that  "  everybody  "  did  expect  it,  the  fact 
that  he  was  the  great  "  catch  "  in  their  set,  with 
his  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  a  year,  his  good 
looks  and  his  good  character — these  were  her  real 
reasons,  with  the  first  dominant.  But  she  did  not 
admit  it  to  herself  then.  At  twenty-four  even  the 
mercenary  instinct  tricks  itself  out  in  a  most  decep 
tive  romantic  disguise  if  there  is  the  ghost  of  an  op 
portunity.  Besides,  there  was  no  reason,  and  no  sign 
of  an  approaching  reason,  for  the  shadow  of  a  sus 
picion  that  life  with  Teddy  Danvers  would  not  be 
full  of  all  that  she  and  her  friends  regarded  as  happi 
ness. 

But  she  would  not  marry  immediately.  She  was 
tenacious  of  her  freedom.  She  was  restless,  dissatis- 


128  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

fied  with  herself  and  not  elated  by  her  prospects. 
She  had  an  excellent  mind,  reasonable,  appreciative, 
ambitious.  Until  she  "  came  out "  she  had  spent 
much  time  among  books ;  but  as  she  had  had  no  capable 
director  of  her  reading,  she  got  from  it  only  a  vague 
sense  that  there  was  somewhere  something  in  the  way 
of  achievement  which  she  might  possibly  like  to  attain 
if  she  knew  what  it  was  or  where  to  look  for  it.  As 
she  became  settled  in  her  place  in  the  routine  of 
social  life,  as  her  horizon  narrowed  to  the  conventional 
ideas  of  her  set,  this  sense  of  possible  and  attractive 
achievement  became  vaguer.  But  her  restlessness  did 
not  diminish. 

"  I  never  saw  such  an  ungrateful  girl,"  was  Mrs. 
Carnarvon's  comment  upon  one  of  Marian's  outbursts 
of  almost  peevish  fretting.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"That's  just  it,"  exclaimed  Marian,  half-laughing. 
"  What  do  I  want  ?  I  look  all  about  me  and  I  can't 
see  it.  Yet  I  know  that  there  must  be  something.  I 
think  I  ought  to  have  been  a  man.  Sometimes  I  feel 
like  running  away — away  off  somewhere.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  getting  second-bests,  paste  substitutes  for  the 
real  jewels.  I  feel  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  child  and  de 
manded  the  moon.  They  gave  me  a  little  gilt  crescent 
and  said  :  *  Here  is  a  nice  little  moon  for  baby  ;  '  and 
it  made  me  furious." 

Mrs.  Carnarvon   looked    irritated.     "  I  don't  under- 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH.    129 

stand  it.  You  are  getting  the  best  of  everything. 
Of  course  you  can't  expect  to  be  happy.  I  don't  sup 
pose  that  any  one  is  happy.  But  all  the  solid  things 
of  life  are  yours,  and  you  can  and  should  be  comfort 
able  and  contented." 

"  That's  just  it,"  answered  Marian  indignantly.  "  I 
have  always  been  swaddled  in  cotton  wool.  I  have 
never  been  allowed  really  to  feel.  I  think  it  is  the 
spirit  of  revolt  in  me.  Yes,  I  ought  to  have  been  a 
man.  I'm  sure  that  then  I  could  have  made  life  a 
little  less  tiresome." 

It  was  this  dissatisfaction  that  postponed  the 
announcement  of  the  engagement  from  month  to 
month  until  a  year  had  slipped  away. 

Instead  of  coming  to  New  York,  Danvers  went  off 
to  Montana  for  a  mountain-lion  hunt  with  two  Eng 
lishmen  who  had  been  staying  with  him  in  "  The 
Valley."  He  would  join  Marian  for  the  trip  South, 
the  engagement  would  be  announced,  and  the  wedding 
would  be  in  May — such  was  the  arrangement  which 
Marian  succeeded  in  making.  It  settled  everything  and 
at  the  same  time  it  gave  her  a  month  of  freedom  in  New 
York.  She  hinted  enough  of  this  programme  to 
Howard  to  enable  him  to  grasp  its  essential  points. 

"  A  month's  holiday,"  was  his  comment.  They 
were  alone  on  the  second  seat  of  George  Browning's 
coach,  driving  through  the  Park.  "  If  we  were  like 


I3o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

those  people  " — he  was  looking  at  a  young  man  and 
young  woman,  side  by  side  upon  a  Park  bench,  blue 
with  cold  but  absorbed  in  themselves  and  obviously 
ecstatic.  Marian  glanced  at  them  with  slightly  super 
cilious  amusement  and  became  so  interested  that  she 
turned  her  head  to  follow  them  with  her  eyes  after 
the  coach  had  passed. 

"  Is  he  kissing  her  ?  "  asked  Howard. 

"  No — not  yet.  But  I'm  sure  he  will  as  soon  as  we 
have  turned  the  corner."  She  said  nothing  for  a 
moment  or  two,  her  glance  straight  ahead  and  upon 
vacancy,  he  admiring  the  curve  of  her  cheek  at  the 
edge  of  its  effective  framing  of  fur. 

"  But  we  are  not "  She  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  regret 
ful,  pensive,  almost  sad.  "  We  are  not  like  them." 

"  Oh,  yes  we  are.  But — we  fancy  we  are  not.  We've 
sold  our  birthright,  our  freedom,  our  independence 
for— for " 

"Well— what?" 

"  Baubles —  childish  toys —  vanities  —  shadows. 
Doesn't  it  show  what  ridiculous  little  creatures  we 
human  beings  are  that  we  regard  the  most  valueless 
things  as  of  the  highest  value,  and  think  least  of  the 
true  valuables.  For,  tell  me,  Lady-Whom-I-Love, 
what  is  most  valuable  in  the  few  minutes  of  this  little 
journey  among  the  stars  on  the  good  ship  Mother 
Earth?" 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH.    131 

"  But  you  would  not  care  always  as  you  care  now? 
It  would  not,  could  not,  last.  If  we — if  we  were  like 
those  people  on  the  bench  back  there,  we'd  go  on  and 
— and  spoil  it  all." 

"  Perhaps — who  can  say  ?  But  in  some  circum 
stances  couldn't  I  make  you  just  as  happy  as — as 
some  one  else  could  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  had  made  me  infinitely  happier  at  one 
time  than  even  you  could  hope  to  make  me  all  the 
time.  At  least  I  think  not.  It  would  always  be — be 
racing  against  a  record  ;  we  both  would  be,  wouldn't 
we?" 

Howard  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  which 
transfigured  his  face  and  sent  the  colour  flaming  to 
her  cheeks.  "  That  being  the  case,"  he  said,  "  let  us 
— let  us  make  the  record  one  that  will  not  be  forgotten 


— soon." 


During  the  month  he  saw  her  almost  every  day.  She 
was  most  ingenious  in  arranging  these  meetings.  They 
were  together  afternoons  and  evenings.  They  were 
often  alone.  Yet  she  was  careful  not  to  violate  any 
convention,  always  to  keep,  or  seem  to  be  keeping, 
one  foot  "  on  the  line."  Howard  threw  himself  into 
his  infatuation  with  all  his  power  of  concentration 
He  practically  took  a  month's  holiday  from  the  office. 
He  thought  about  her  incessantly.  He  used  all  his 
skill  with  words  in  making  love  to  her.  And  she 


132  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

abandoned  herself  to  an  equal  infatuation  with  equal 
absorption.  Neither  of  them  spoke  of  the  past  or  the 
future.  They  lived  in  the  present,  talked  of  the 
present. 

One  day  she  spoke  of  herself  as  an  orphan. 

"  I  did  not  know  that,"  he  said.  "  But  then  what 
do  I  know  about  you  in  relation  to  the  rest  of  the 
world  ?  To  me  you  are  an  isolated  act  of  creation." 

"You  must  tell  me  about  j0#rself."  She  was 
looking  at  him,  surprised.  "  Why,  I  know  nothing  at 
all  about  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  You  know  all  that  there  is  to 
know — all  that  is  important." 

"What?"  She  was  asking  for  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  him  say  it. 

"  That  I  love  you — you — all  of  you — all  of  you, 
with  all  of  me." 

Her  eyes  answered  for  her  lips,  which  only  said 
smilingly :  "  No,  we  haven't  time  to  get  acquainted — • 

at  least  not  to-day." 

tt******** 

She  was  to  start  for  Florida  at  ten  the  next 
morning.  Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  going  away  to  the 
opera,  giving  them  the  last  evening  alone.  Marian 
had  asked  this  of  her  point-blank. 

"You  are  an  extraordinarily  sensible  as  well  as 
strong-willed  girl,  Marian,"  Mrs.  Carnarvon  replied. 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH.    133 

"  I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  you  for  what  you're 
doing.  The  fact  that  I  haven't  even  hinted  a  protest, 
but  have  lent  myself  to  your  little  plots,  shows  that 
that  young  man  has  hypnotized  me  also." 

"  You  needn't  disturb  yourself,  as  you  know/* 
Marian  said  gaily.  "  I'm  not  hypnotized.  I  shall  not 
see  Mr.  Howard  again  until — after  it's  all  over. 
Perhaps  not  then." 

He  came  to  dinner  and  they  were  not  alone  until 
almost  nine.  She  sat  near  the  open  fire  among  the 
cushions  heaped  high  upon  the  little  sofa.  She  had 
never  been  more  beautiful,  and  apparently  never  in  a 
happier  mood.  They  both  laughed  and  talked  as  if  it 
were  the  first  instead  of  the  last  day  of  their  month. 
Neither  spoke  of  the  parting;  each  avoided  all  sub 
jects  that  pointed  in  direction  of  the  one  subject  of 
which  both  thought  whenever  their  minds  left  the 
immediate  present.  As  the  little  clock  on  the  mantle 
began  to  intimate  in  a  faint,  polite  voice  the  quarter 
before  eleven,  he  said  abruptly,  almost  brusquely : 

"  I  feel  like  a  coward,  giving  you  up  in  this  way. 
Yes — giving  you  up ;  for  you  have  a  traitor  in  your 
fortress  who  has  offered  me  the  keys,  who  offers  them 
to  me  now.  But  I  do  not  trust  you  ;  and  I  can't  trust 
myself.  The  curse  of  luxury  is  on  you,  the  curse  of 
ambition  on  me.  If  we  had  found  each  the  other 
younger ;  if  I  had  lived  less  alone,  more  in  the  ordi- 


i34  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

nary  habit  of  dependence  upon  others ;  if  you  had 
been  brought  up  to  live  instead  of  to  have  all  the 
machinery  of  living  provided  and  conducted  for  you 
— well,  it  might  have  been  different." 

"You  are  wrong  as  to  me,  right  as  to  yourself. 
But  yours  is  not  the  curse  of  ambition.  It  is  the 
passion  for  freedom.  It  would  be  madness  for  you, 
thinking  as  you  do,  even  if  you  could — and  you  can't." 

He  stood  up  and  held  out  his  hand.  She  did  not 
rise  or  look  at  him.. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said  at  last,  putting  her  hand 
in  his.  "  Of  course  I  am  thinking  I  shall  see  you  to 
morrow.  One  does  not  come  out  of  such  a  dream," 
— she  looked  up  at  him  smiling — "  all  in  a  moment." 

"  Good  night,"  he  smiled  back  at  her.  "  I  shall  not 
open  '  the  fiddler's  bill'  until — until  I  have  to."  At 
the  door  he  turned.  She  had  risen  and  was  kneeling 
on  the  sofa,  her  elbow  on  its  low  arm,  her  chin  upon 
her  hand,  her  eyes  staring  into  the  fire.  He  came 
toward  her. 

"  May  I  kiss  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes."     Her  voice  was  expressionless. 

He  bent  over  and  just  touched  his  lips  to  the  back 
of  her  neck  at  the  edge  of  her  hair.  He  thought 
that  she  trembled  slightly,  but  her  face  was  set  and 
she  did  not  look  toward  him.  He  turned  and  left 
her.  Half  an  hour  later  she  heard  the  bell  ring — it 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  A  MONTH.    135 

was  Mrs.  Carnarvon.  She  wished  to  see  no  one,  so 
she  fled  through  the  rear  door  of  the  reception  room 
and  up  the  great  stairway  to  lock  herself  in  her 
boudoir.  She  sank  slowly  upon  the  lounge  in  front 
of  the  fire  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  fire  died  out  and 
the  room  grew  cold.  A  warning  chilliness  made 
her  rise  to  get  ready  for  bed. 

"  No,"  she  said  aloud.  "  It  isn't  ambition  and  it 
isn't  lack  of  love.  It's  a  queer  sort  of  cowardice  ; 
but  it's  cowardice  for  all  that.  He's  a  coward  or  he 
wouldn't  have  given  up.  But — I  wonder — how  am 
I  going  to  live  without  him?  I  need  him — more 
than  he  needs  me,  I'm  afraid." 

She  was  standing  before  her  dressing  table.  On 
it  was  a  picture  of  Danvers — handsome,  self-satisfied, 
healthy,  unintellectual.  She  looked  at  it,  gave  a 
little  shiver,  and  with  the  end  of  her  comb  toppled  it 
over  upon  its  face. 


XIII. 

RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS. 

ON  that  journey  south  Marian  for  the  first  time 
studied  Danvers  as  a  husband  in  prospect. 

The  morning  after  they  left  New  York,  their  private 
car  arrived  at  Savannah.  At  dark  the  night  before 
they  were  rushing  through  a  snow  storm  raging  in  a 
wintry  landscape.  Now  they  were  looking  out  upon 
spring  from  the  open  windows.  As  soon  as  the  train 
stopped,  all  except  Marian  and  Danvers  left  the  car  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  platform.  Danvers,  standing 
behind  Marian,  looked  around  to  make  sure  that  none 
of  the  servants  was  about,  then  rubbed  his  hand 
caressingly  and  familiarly  upon  her  cheek. 

"  Did  you  miss  me?  "  he  asked. 

Marian  could  not  prevent  her  head  from  shrinking 
from  his  touch. 

"  There's  nobody  about, "Danvers  said,  reassuringly. 
But  he  acted  upon  the  hint  and,  taking  his  hand  away, 
came  around  and  sat  beside  her. 

"  Did^ou  miss  me  ?  "  he  repeated,  looking  at  her 
with  an  expression  in  his  frank,  manly  blue  eyes  that 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          137 

made  her  flush  at  the  thought  of  "  treason  "  past  and 
to  come. 

"  Did  you  miss  me  ?  "  she  evaded. 

"  I  would  have  returned  long  ago  if  I  had  not  been 
ashamed,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  I  never  thought 
that  I  should  come  not  to  care  for  as  good  shooting 
as  that.  You  almost  cost  me  my  life." 

"  Yes?  "  Marian  spoke  absently.  She  was  absorbed 
in  her  mental  comparison  of  the  two  men. 

"  I  got  away  from  the  others  and  was  looking  at 
your  picture.  They  started  up  a  lion  and  he  came 
straight  at  me  from  behind.  If  he  hadn't  made  a 
misstep  in  his  hurry  and  loosened  a  stone,  I  guess  he 
would  have  got  me.  As  it  was,  I  got  him." 

"  You  mean  your  gun  got  him." 

"  Of  course.  You  don't  suppose  I  tackled  him 
bare-handed." 

"  It  might  have  been  fairer.  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  boast  of  having  killed  a  creature  that  never 
bothered  you,  that  you  had  to  go  thousands  of  miles 
oat  of  your  way  to  find,  and  that  you  attacked  with  a 
gun,  giving  him  no  chance  to  escape." 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  laughed  Danvers.  "  I  never 
expected  to  hear  you  say  anything  like  that.  Who's 
been  putting  such  stuff  into  your  head  ?" 

Marian  coloured.  She  did  not  like  his  tone.  She 
resented  the  suggestion  of  the  truth  that  her  speech 


138  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

was  borrowed.  It  made  her  uncomfortable  to  find 
herself  thus  unexpectedly  on  the  dangerous  ground. 

*  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  that  newspaper  fel 
low  Mrs.  Carnarvon  has  taken  up.  She  talked  about 
him  for  an  hour  after  you  left  us  to  go  to  bed  last 
night." 

"  Yes,  it  was — was  Mr.  Howard."  Marian  had 
recovered  herself.  "  I  want  you  to  meet  him  some 
time.  You'll  like  him,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  doubt  it.  Mrs.  Carnarvon  seemed  not  to  know 
much  about  him.  I  suppose  he's  more  or  less  of  an 
adventurer." 

Marian  wondered  if  this  obvious  dislike  was  the 
result  of  one  of  those  strange  instincts  that  sometimes 
enable  men  to  scent  danger  before  any  sign  of  it 
appears. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  an  adventurer,"  she  replied.  "  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know.  Why  should  one  bother  to  find 
out  about  a  passing  acquaintance?  It  is  enough  to 
know  that  he  is  amusing." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  He  might  make  off  with 
the  jewels  when  you  had  your  back  turned." 

As  soon  as  she  had  made  her  jesting  denial  of  her 
real  lover  Marian  was  ashamed  of  herself.  And  Dan- 
vers*  remark,  though  a  jest,  cut  her.  "  What  I  said 
about  a  passing  acquaintance  was  not  just  or  true," 
she  said  impulsively  and  too  warmly.  "  Mr.  Howard 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          139 

is  not  an  adventurer.  I  admire  and  like  him  very 
much  indeed.  I'm  proud  of  his  friendship." 

Danvers  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  at  her 
suspiciously. 

"  You  saw  a  good  deal  of  this — this  friend  of  yours  ?  " 
he  demanded,  his  mouth  straightening  into  a  dictato 
rial  line. 

At  this  Marian  grew  haughty  and  her  eyes  flashed  : 
"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  she  inquired,  her  tone  danger 
ously  calm. 

"  Because  I  have  the  right  to  know."  He  pointed 
to  the  diamond  on  her  third  finger. 

"  Oh — that  is  soon  settled."  Marian  drew  off  the 
ring  and  held  it  out  to  him.  "  Really,  Teddy,  I  think 
you  ought  to  have  waited  a  little  longer  before  insist 
ing  so  fiercely  on  your  rights." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Marian."  Danvers  did  not  take 
the  ring  but  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  face  and  changed 
his  tone  to  friendly  remonstrance.  "  You  know  the 
ring  doesn't  mean  anything.  It's  your  promise  that 
counts.  And  honestly  don't  you  think  your  promise 
does  give  me  the  right  to  ask  you  about  your  new 
friends  when  you  speak  of  them,  of  one  of  them,  in — 
in  such  a  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  intend  to  deceive  you,"  she  said,  turning 
the  ring  around  slowly  on  her  finger.  "  I  didn't 


140  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

know  how  to  tell  you.  I  suppose  the  only  way  to 
speak  is  just  to  speak." 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  in  love  with  this  man, 
Marian  ?  " 

She  nodded,  then  after  a  long  pause,  said,  "Yes, 
Teddy,  I  love  him." 

"  But  I  thought " 

"And  so  did  I,  Teddy.  But  he  came,  and  I — well 
I  couldn't  help  it." 

As  he  did  not  speak,  she  looked  at  him.  His  face 
was  haggard  and  white  and  in  his  eyes  which  met  hers 
frankly  there  was  suffering. 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,  Teddy,"  Marian  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  "  at  least,  not  altogether.  I  might  have 
kept  away  and  I  didn't." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you.     I  blame  him." 

"  But  it  wasn't  his  fault.     I — I — encouraged  him." 

"  Did  he  know  that  we  were  engaged  ?  " 

"Yes,"  reluctantly. 

"The  scoundrel!  I  suspected  that  he  was  rotten 
somewhere." 

"You  are  unjust  to  him.  I  have  not  told  you 
properly." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that  he  cared  for  you  ?  " 

"Yes — but  he  didn't  try  to  get  me  to  break  my 
engagement." 

"So   much   the    more    a   scoundrel,    he.     Tell  me, 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          141 

Marian — come  to  your  senses  and  tell  me — what  in 
the  devil  did  he  hang  about  you  for  and  make  love  to 
you,  if  he  didn't  want  to  marry  you  ?  Would  an 
honest  man,  a  decent  man,  do  that  ?  " 

Marian's  face  confessed  assent. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  have  seen  what  sort  of 
a  fellow  he  is.  I  should  think  you  would  despise 
him." 

"  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought  to.  But  I 
always  end  by  despising  myself — and — and — it  makes 
no  difference  in  the  way  I  feel  toward  him." 

"  I  think  I  would  do  well  to  look  him  up  and  give 
him  a  horse-whipping.  But  you'll  get  over  him,  Mar 
ian.  I  am  astonished  at  your  cousin.  How  could 
she  let  this  go  on  ?  But  then,  she's  crazy  about  him 
too." 

Marian  smiled  miserably.  "  I've  owned  up  and  you 
ought  to  congratulate  yourself  on  so  luckily  getting 
rid  of  such  an  untrustworthy  person  as  I." 

"  Getting  rid  of  you  ? "  Danvers  looked  at  her 
defiantly.  "  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  you  go  on 
and  ruin  yourself  on  an  impulse?  Not  much!  I 
hold  you  to  your  promise.  You'll  come  round  all 
right  after  you've  been  away  from  this  fellow  for  a 
few  days.  You'll  be  amazed  at  yourself  a  week  from 
now." 

"  You   don't  understand,  Teddy."     Marian  wished 


142  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

him  to  see  once  for  all  that,  whatever  might  be  the 
future  for  her  and  Howard,  there  was  no  future  for 
her  and  him.  "  Don't  make  it  so  hard  for  me  to  tell 
you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  it  now,  Mar 
ian.  I  can't  stand  it — I  hardly  know  what  I'm  saying 
— wait  a  few  days — let's  go  on  as  we  have  been — here 
they  come." 

The  others  of  the  party  came  bustling  into  the  car 
and  the  train  started.  For  the  rest  of  the  journey 
Danvers  avoided  her,  keeping  to  the  smoking  room 
and  the  game  of  poker  there.  Marian  could  neither 
read  nor  watch  the  landscape.  She  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  that  she  had  told  him. 
She  hated  to  think  that  she  had  inflicted  pain  and  she 
could  not  believe,  in  spite  of  what  she  had  seen  in  his 
eyes,  that  his  feeling  in  the  matter  was  more  than 
jealousy  and  wounded  vanity. 

"  He  doesn't  really  care  for  me,"  she  thought.  "  It's 
his  pride  that  is  hurt.  He  will  flare  out  at  me  and 
break  it  off.  I  do  hope  he'll  get  angry.  It  will  make 
it  so  much  easier  for  me." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  took  Mrs.  Carnarvon  into 
her  confidence.  "  I've  told  Teddy,"  she  said. 

"  I  might  have  known ! "  exclaimed  her  cousin. 
"  What  on  earth  made  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — perhaps  shame." 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.         143 

"  Shame— trash !  Your  life  is  going  to  be  a  fine 
turmoil  if  you  run  to  Teddy  with  an  account  of  every 
little  mild  flirtation  you  happen  to  have.  Of  all  the 
imbeciles,  the  most  imbecile  is  the  woman  who  con 
fesses." 

"  But  how  could  I  marry  him  when " 

"  When  you  don't  love  him  ?  " 

"  No— I  might  have  done  that.  I  like  him.  But, 
when  I  love  another  man." 

"  It  does  make  a  difference.  But  you  ought  to  be 
able  to  foresee  that  you'll  get  over  Howard  in  a  few 
weeks " 

"  Precisely  what  Teddy  said." 

"Did  he?  I'm  surprised  at  his  having  so  much 
sense.  For,  if  you'll  forgive  me,  I  don't  think  Teddy 
will  ever  set  New  York  on  fire — at  least,  he's — well,  he 
has  the  makings  of  an  ideal  husband.  And  has  he 
broken  it  off?  " 

"  No.     He  wouldn't  have  it." 

"  Really  ?  Well  he  is  in  love.  Most  men  in  his 
position — able  to  get  any  girl  he  wants — would  have 
thrown  up  the  whole  business.  Yes,  he  must  be 
awfully  in  love." 

"  Do  you  think  that?"  Marian's  voice  spoke  dis 
tress  but  she  felt  only  satisfaction.  "  Oh,  I  hope  not 
— that  is,  I'd  like  to  think  he  cared  a  great  deal  and  at 
the  same  time  I  don't  want  to  hurt  him." 


144  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"Don't  fret  yourself  about  these  two  men.  Just 
go  on  thinking  as  you  please.  You'll  be  surprised 
how  soon  Howard  will  fade."  Mrs.  Carnarvon  smiled 
satirically  at  some  thought — perhaps  a  memory. 
"You're  a  good  deal  of  a  goose,  my  dear,  but  you  are 
a  great  deal  more  of  a  woman.  That's  why  I  feel 
sure  that  Teddy  will  win." 

With  such  an  opportunity — with  the  field  clear 
and  the  woman  half-remorseful  over  her  treachery, 
half-indignant  at  the  man  who  had  shown  himself  so 
weak  and  spiritless — a  cleverer  or  a  less  vain  man  than 
Danvers  would  have  triumphed  easily.  And  for  the 
first  week  he  did  make  progress.  He  acted  upon  the 
theory  that  Marian  had  been  hypnotized  and  that 
the  proper  treatment  was  to  ignore  her  delusion  and 
to  treat  her  with  assiduous  but  not  annoying  consider 
ation.  He  did  not  pose  as  an  injured  or  jealous 
lover.  He  was  the  friend,  always  at  her  service, 
always  thinking  out  plans  for  her  amusement.  He 
made  no  reference  to  their  engagement  or  to  How 
ard. 

Several  people  of  their  set  were  at  the  hotel  and 
Marian  was  soon  drifting  back  into  her  accustomed 
modes  of  thought.  The  wider  horizon  which  she 
fancied  Howard  had  shown  her  was  growing  dim  and 
hazy.  The  horizon  which  he  had  made  her  think 
narrow  was  beginning  again  to  seem  the  only  one. 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          145 

This  meant  Danvers  ;  but  he  was  not  acute  enough  to 
understand  her  and  to  follow  up  his  advantage. 

One  morning  as  he  was  walking  up  and  down  under 
the  palms,  waiting  for  Mrs.  Carnarvon  and  Marian, 
Mrs.  Fortescue  called  him.  She  was  a  cold,  rather 
handsome  woman.  In  her  eyes  was  the  expression 
that  always  betrays  the  wife  or  the  mistress  who 
loathes  the  man  she  lives  with,  enduring  him  only 
because  he  gives  her  that  which  she  most  wants — 
money.  She  had  one  fixed  idea — to  marry  her 
daughter  "  well,"  that  is,  to  money. 

"  Can  you  join  us  to-day,  Teddy  ? "  she  asked. 
"  We  need  one  more  man." 

"  I'm  waiting  for  Mrs.  Carnarvon  and  Marian,"  he 
explained. 

"  Oh,  of  course."  Mrs.  Fortescue  smiled.  "  What 
a  nice  girl  she  is — so  clever,  so — so  independent.  I 
admired  her  immensely  for  deciding  to  marry  that 
poor,  obscure  young  fellow.  I  like  to  see  the  young 
people  romantic." 

Danvers  flushed  angrily  and  pulled  at  his  mustache. 
He  tried  to  smile.  "  We've  teased  her  about  it  a 
good  deal,"  he  said,  "but  she  denies  it." 

"  I  suppose  they  aren't  ready  to  announce  the 
engagement  yet,"  Mrs.  Fortescue  suggested.  "  I  sup 
pose  they  are  waiting  until  he  betters  his  position  a 


146  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

little.  It's  never  a  good  idea  to  have  too  long  a  time 
between  the  announcement  and  the  marriage." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  it."  Danvers  tried  to  look  indiffer 
ent  but  his  eyes  were  sullen  with  jealousy. 

"  I  always  rather  thought  that  you  and  Marian  were 
going  to  make  a  match  of  it,"  continued  Mrs.  Fortes- 
cue.  Just  then  her  daughter  came  down  the  walk. 
She  was  fashionably  dressed  in  white  and  blue  that 
brought  out  all  the  loveliness  of  her  golden  hair  and 
violet  eyes  and  faintly-coloured,  smooth  fair  skin. 
Danvers  had  not  seen  her  since  she  "came  out,"  and 
was  dazzled  by  her  radiance. 

They  say  that  every  man  must  be  a  little  in  love 
with  every  pretty  woman  he  sees.  And  Danvers  at 
once  gave  Ellen  Fortescue  her  due.  She  sat  silent 
beside  her  mother,  looking  the  personification  of  inno 
cence,  purity  and  poetry.  Her  mother  continued 
subtly  to  poison  Danvers  against  Marian,  to  make  him 
feel  that  she  had  not  appreciated  him,  that  she  had 
trifled  with  him,  that  she  had  not  treated  him  as  his 
dignity  and  importance  merited.  When  she  and  Mrs. 
Carnarvon  appeared,  he  joined  them  tardily,  after  hav 
ing  made  an  arrangement  with  the  Fortescues  for  the 
next  day. 

That  evening  he  danced  several  times  with  Ellen 
Fortescue  and  adopted  the  familiar  lover's  tactics — 
he  set  about  making  Marian  jealous.  He  scored  the 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          147 

customary  success.  When  she  went  to  bed  she  lay 
for  several  hours  looking  out  into  the  moonlight,  rag 
ing  against  the  Fortescues  and  against  Danvers.  The 
mere  fact  that  a  man  whom  she  regarded  as  hers  was 
permitting  himself  to  show  marked  attention  to 
another  woman  would  have  been  sufficient.  But  in 
addition,  Marian  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  material 
advantages  of  this  particular  man.  She  did  not  want 
to  marry  him  ;  at  least  she  was  of  that  mind  at  the 
moment.  But  she  might  change  her  mind.  Certainly, 
if  there  was  to  be  any  breaking  off,  she  wished  it  to 
be  of  her  doing.  She  did  not  fancy  the  idea  of  him 
departing  joyfully. 

She  was  far  too  wise  to  show  that  she  saw  what  was 
going  on.  She  praised  Miss  Fortescue  to  Danvers 
with  apparent  frankness  and  insisted  on  him  devoting 
more  time  to  her.  Danvers  persisted  in  his  scheme 
boldly  for  a  week  and  then,  just  as  Marian  was  despair 
ing  and  was  casting  about  for  another  plan  of  cam 
paign,  he  gave  in.  They  were  sitting  apart  in  the 
shadow  near  one  of  the  windows  of  the  ball-room. 
He  had  been  sullen  all  the  evening,  almost  rude. 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  going  to  keep  me  in 
suspense  ?  "  he  burst  out  angrily. 

"  In  suspense  ?" 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  think  IVe  been  very 
patient." 


148  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  You  mean  our  engagement  ?  "  Marian  was  look- 
ing  at  him,  repelled  by  his  expression,  his  manner,  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  his  whole  mood. 

"  Yes — I  want  your  decision." 

"  I  have  not  changed." 

"You  still  love  that — that  newspaper  fellow?" 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that."  Marian  felt  her  irritation 
against  Danvers  suddenly  vanish  and  in  its  place  a 
sense  of  relief  and  of  calmness.  "  I  mean  toward  you. 
It  won't  do,  Teddy.  We  shall  get  on  well  as  friends. 
But  I  can't  think  of  you  in — in  that  way." 

Mrs.  Fortescue  had  so  swollen  his  vanity  that  he 
was  astounded  at  Marian's  decision.  He  rapidly 
went  over  in  his  mind  all  the  advantages  he  offered  as 
a  husband,  and  then  looked  at  her  as  if  he  thought  her 
beside  herself. 

"  Look  here,  Marian,"  he  protested.  "  You  can't 
mean  it.  Why,  it's  all  settled  that  we  are  to  marry. 
It  would  be  madness  for  you  to  break  it  off.  I  can 
give  you  everything — everything.  And  he  can't  give 
you  anything."  Then  with  fatal  tactlessness :  "  He 
won't  even  give  you  the  little  that  he  can,  according 
to  your  own  story." 

"  Yes,  it's  madness,  isn't  it,  Teddy,  to  refuse  you — 
fascinating  you,  who  can  give  everything.  But  that's 
just  it.  You  have  too  much.  You  overwhelm  me. 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.          149 

I  should  feel  like  a  cheat,  taking  so  much  and  giving 
so  little." 

"  Don't,"  he  begged,  his  self-complacence  and  su 
periority  all  gone.  "  Don't  mind  my  blundering, 
please,  dear.  I  want  you.  I  can't  say  it.  I  haven't 
any  gift  of  words.  But  you've  known  me  all  my  life 
and  you  know  that  I  love  you.  I've  set  my  heart  on 
it,  Mary  Ann," — it  was  the  name  he  used  to  tease  her 
with  when  they  were  children  playing  together — 
"  You  won't  go  back  on  me  now,  will  you  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  as  you  wish,  Teddy."  Marian 
was  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  unhappiness  she 
was  causing  this  friend  of  so  many,  many  years  and  of 
so  many,  many  memories.  "  But  I  can't — I  can't." 

"  Marry  me,  dear,  anyhow.  You  will  care  afterward." 
Marian  was  silent  and  Danvers  hoped.  "  You  know 
all  about  me.  I'll  not  give  you  any  surprises.  I 
shan't  bother  you.  And  I'll  make  you  happy." 

"  No,"  she  said  firmly.  "  You  mustn't  ask  it.  I'll 
tell  you  why.  I  have  thought  of  marrying  you  re 
gardless  of  this.  Only  last  night  I  thought  of  it — 
finally,  went  over  the  whole  thing.  Listen,  Teddy — if 
I  were  married  to  you — and  if  he  should  come — and 
he  would  come  sooner  or  later — if  he  should  come  and 
say  'Come  with  me,' — I'd  go — yes,  I'm  sure  I'd  go.  I 
can't  explain  why.  But  I  know  that  nothing  would 
stand  in  the  way — nothing." 


ISO  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself."  Marian 
shrank  from  him.  She  was  horrified  by  the  malignant 
fury  that  sparkled  in  his  eyes  and  raged  in  his  voice. 
"  That  damned  scoundrel  is  worthy  of  you  and  you  of 
him.  But  I'll  get  you  yet.  I  never  was  crossed  in 
anything  in  my  life  and  I'll  not  be  beaten  here." 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  my  friend  !  "  Marian 
was  looking  at  him,  pale,  her  eyes  wide  with  amaze 
ment.  "  Is  it  really  you  ?  " 

He  laughed  insolently.  "Yes — you'll  see.  And 
he'll  see.  I'll  crush  him  as  if  he  were  an  egg  shell. 
And  as  for  you — you  perjurer — you  liar  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  coarse  contempt,  rose  and 
stalked  away.  Marian  sat  rigid.  She  was  conscious 
of  the  insult.  But  even  that  humiliation  was  not  so 
strong  in  her  mind  as  the  astounding  revelation  of 
Danvers.  She  remembered  that  even  as  his  eyes  blazed 
hatred  at  her,  he  looked  at  her,  at  her  neck,  her  bare 
arms,  with  the  baffled  desire  of  brute  passion.  She 
did  not  fully  understand  the  look,  but  she  felt  that  it 
was  a  degradation  far  greater  than  his  insulting  words. 

She  slipped,  almost  skulked  to  her  room,  her  eyes 
down,  her  face  in  a  burning  flush,  her  scarf  drawn 
tightly  about  her  neck.  As  her  door  closed  behind 
her,  she  fell  upon  her  bed  and  began  to  sob  hysteri 
cally.  She  started  up  with  a  scream  to  find  her  cousin 
standing  beside  her. 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.         151 

"  I'm  so  sorry.  Forgive  me."  Mrs.  Carnarvon's 
voice  had  lost  its  wonted  levity.  "  I  saw  that  you 
were  in  trouble  and  followed.  I  knocked  and  I 
thought  I  heard  you  answer.  What  is  it,  Marie? 
May  I  ask?  Can  I  do  anything?" 

Marian  drew  her  down  to  the  bed  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  lap.  "  Oh,  I  feel  so  unclean,"  she  said. 
"  It  was — Teddy.  Would  you  believe  it,  Jessie, 
Teddy !  I  looked  on  him  as  a  brother.  And  he 
showed  me  that  he  was  not  my  friend — that  he  didn't 
even  love  me — that  he — oh,  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  in  his  eyes.  He  made  me  feel  like  a — like  a 
thing." 

Mrs.  Carnarvon  smothered  a  smile.  "  Of  course 
Teddy's  a  brute,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  knew. 
He's  a  domesticated  brute,  like  most  of  the  men  and 
some  of  the  women.  You'll  have  to  get  used  to 
that." 

By  refusing  to  fall  in  with  her  mood,  Mrs.  Carnarvon 
had  gone  far  toward  curing  it.  Marian  stopped  sob 
bing  and  presently  said  : 

"Oh,  I  know  all  that.  But  I  didn't  expect  it  from 
Teddy — and  toward  me.  And — "  she  shuddered — "  I 
was  thinking,  actually  thinking  of  marrying  him.  I 
wish  never  to  see  him  again.  And  he  pretended  to 
be  my  friend  !  " 

"  And  he  was,  no  doubt,  until  he  got  you  on  the 


152  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

brain  in  another  way,  in  the  way  he  calls  love.  There 
isn't  any  love  that  has  friendship  in  it." 

"  We  must  go  away  at  once." 

"  Unless  Teddy  saves  us  the  trouble  by  going  first, 
as  I  suspect  he  will." 

"  Jessie,  he  hates  me  and — and — Mr.  Howard." 

"  So  you  talked  to  him  about  Howard  again,  did 
you  ?  "  Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  indignant.  "  You  are 
old  enough  to  know  better,  Marian.  You  carry  frank 
ness  entirely  too  far.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  truth 
running  amuck." 

"  He  said  he  would  crush  Howard.  And  I  believe 
he  really  meant  it." 

"  Teddy  is  a  man  who  believes  in  revenges — or 
thinks  he  does.  His  father  taught  him  to  keep  ac 
counts  in  grievances,  and  no  doubt  he  has  opened  an 
account  with  Howard.  But  don't  be  disturbed  about 
it.  His  father  would  have  insisted  on  balancing  the 
account.  Teddy  will  just  keep  on  hating,  but  won't 
do  anything.  He's  not  underhanded." 

"  He's  everything  that  is  vile  and  low." 

"  You're  quite  mistaken,  my  dear.  He's  what  they 
call  a  manly  fellow — a  little  too  masculine  perhaps, 
but-  -" 

A  knock  interrupted  and  Mrs.  Carnarvon,  answering 
it,  took  from  the  bell-boy  a  note  for  Marian  who  read 
it,  then  handed  it  to  her.  Mrs.  Carnarvon  read  : 


RECKONING  WITH  DANVERS.         153 

"  I  apologise  for  the  way  I  said  what  I  did  this  evening,  not  for 
what  I  said.  Because  you  had  forgotten  yourself,  had  played  the 
traitor  and  the  cheat  was,  perhaps,  no  excuse  for  my  rudeness. 
You  have  fallen  under  an  evil  influence.  I  hope  no  harm  will 
come  to  you,  for  I  can't  get  over  my  feeling  for  you.  But  I  have 
done  my  best  and  have  not  been  able  to  save  you.  I  am  going 
away  early  in  the  morning. 

"E.  D." 

"  Melodramatic,  isn't  it  ?  "  laughed  Mrs.  Carnarvon. 
"  So  he's  off.  How  furious  Martha  Fortescue  and 
Ellen  will  be.  But  they'll  go  in  pursuit,  and  they'll 
get  him.  A  man  is  never  so  susceptible  as  when  he's 
broken-hearted.  Well,  I  must  go.  Good-night,  dear. 
Don't  mope  and  whine.  Take  your  punishment  sen 
sibly.  You've  learned  something — if  it's  only  not  to 
tell  one  man  how  much  you  love  another." 

"  I  think  I'll  go  abroad  with  Aunt  Retta  next 
month." 

"  A  good  idea — you'll  forget  both  these  men. 
Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  answered  Marian  dolefully,  expect 
ing  to  resume  her  thoughts  of  Danvers.  But,  instead, 
he  straightway  disappeared  from  her  mind  and  she 
could  think  only  of  Howard.  She  was  free  now. 
The  one  barrier  between  him  and  her  of  which  she 
had  been  really  conscious  was  gone.  And  her  heart 
began  to  ache  with  longing  for  him.  Why  had  he 


154  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

not  written?  What  was  he  doing?  Did  he  really 
love  her  or  was  his  passion  for  her  only  a  flash  of  a 
strong  and  swift  imagination  ? 

No,  he  loved  her — she  could  not  doubt  that. 
But  she  could  not  understand  his  conduct.  She  felt 
that  she  ought  to  be  very  unhappy,  yet  she  was  not. 
The  longer  she  thought  of  him  and  the  more  she 
weighed  his  words  and  looks,  the  stronger  became  her 
trust  in  him.  "  He  loves  me,"  she  said.  "  He  will 
come  when  he  can.  It  may  be  even  harder  for  him  than 
for  me." 

And  so,  explanation  failing — for  she  rejected  every 
explanation  that  reflected  upon  him — she  hid  and 
excused  him  behind  that  familiar  refuge  of  the  doubt 
ing,  mystery. 


XIV. 

THE  NEWS-RECORD  GETS  A  NEW  EDITOR. 

A  FEW  minutes  after  leaving  Marian  that  last  night 
at  Mrs.  Carnarvon's,  Howard  was  deep  in  a  mood  of 
self-contempt.  He  felt  that  he  had  faced  the  crisis 
like  a  coward.  He  despised  the  weakness  which 
enfeebled  him  for  effort  to  win  her  and  at  the  same 
time  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  thrust  her  from  his 
mind. 

In  the  working  hours  his  will  conquered  with  the  aid 
of  fixed  habit  and  he  was.  able  to  concentrate  upon 
his  editorials.  But  in  his  rooms,  and  especially  after 
the  lights  were  out,  his  imagination  became  master, 
deprived  him  of  sleep  and  occasionally  lifted  him  to  a 
height  of  hope  in  order  that  it  might  dash  him 
down  the  more  cruelly  upon  the  rocks  of  fact. 

At  last  he  was  forced  to  face  the  situation — in  his 
own  evasive  fashion.  It  was  impossible  to  go  back. 
That  loneliness  which  often  threatened  him  after 
Alice's  death  had  become  the  permanent  condition  of 
his  life.  "  I  will  work  for  her,"  he  said.  "  Until  I 
have  made  a  place  for  her  I  dare  not  claim  her.  So 
much  I  will  concede  to  my  weakness.  But  when  I 


156  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

have  won  a  position  which  reasonably  assures  the  future, 
I  shall  claim  her — no  matter  what  has  happened  in 
the  meanwhile." 

He  would  have  smiled  at  this  wild  resolution  had  he 
been  in  a  less  distracted  state  of  mind  or  had  he  been 
dealing  with  any  other  than  a  matter  of  love.  But  in 
the  circumstances  it  gave  him  heart  and  set  him  to 
work  with  an  energy  and  effectiveness  which  still 
further  increased  Mr.  Malcolm's  esteem  for  him. 

"Will  you  dine  with  me  at  the  Union  Club  on 
Wednesday?"  Mr.  Malcolm  asked  one  morning  in 
mid-February.  "  Mr.  Coulter  and  Mr.  Stokely  are  com 
ing.  I  want  you  to  know  them  better." 

Howard  accepted  and  wondered  that  he  took  so  little 
interest.  For  Stokely  and  Coulter  were  the 
principal  stockholders  of  the  News-Record,  and  with 
Malcolm  formed  the  triumvirate  which  directed  it  in 
all  its  departments.  Mr.  Malcolm  held  only  a  few 
shares  of  stock,  but  received  what  was  in  the  news 
paper-world  an  immense  salary — thirty  thousand  a 
year.  He  was  at  once  an  able  editor  and  an  able 
diplomatist.  He  knew  how  to  make  the  plans  of  his 
two  associates  conform  to  conditions  of  news  and 
policy — when  to  let  them  use  the  paper,  or,  rather, 
when  to  use  the  paper  himself  for  their  personal 
interests ;  when  and  how  to  induce  them  to  let  the 
paper  alone.  Through  a  quarter  of  a  century  of 


NEWS-RECORD  GETS  A  NEW  EDITOR.  157 

changing  ownerships  Malcolm  had  persisted,  chiefly 
because  he  had  but  one  conviction — that  the  post  of 
editor  of  the  News-Record  exactly  suited  him  and 
must  remain  his  at  any  sacrifice  of  personal  character. 

Howard  had  met  Stokely  and  Coulter.  He  liked 
Stokely  who  was  owner  of  a  few  shares  more  than 
one-third ;  he  disliked  Coulter  who  owned  just  under 
one-half. 

Stokely  was  a  frank,  coarse,  dollar-hunter,  cheer 
fully  unscrupulous  in  a  large  way,  acute,  caring  not  at 
all  for  principles  of  any  kind,  letting  the  paper  alone 
most  of  the  time  because  he  was  astute  enough 
to  know  that  in  his  ignorance  of  journalism  he  would 
surely  injure  it  as  a  property. 

Coulter  was  a  hypocrite  and  a  snob.  Also  he 
fancied  he  knew  how  to  conduct  a  newspaper.  He 
was  as  unscrupulous  as  Stokely  but  tried  to  mask  it. 

When  Stokely  wished  the  News-Record  to  advocate 
a  "job,"  or  steal,  or  the  election  of  some  disreputable 
who  would  work  in  his  interest,  he  told  Malcolm  pre 
cisely  what  he  wanted  and  left  the  details  of  the 
stultification  to  his  experienced  adroitness.  When 
Coulter  wished  to  "  poison  the  fountain  of  publicity," 
as  Malcolm  called  the  paper's  departures  from  honesty 
and  right,  he  approached  the  subject  by  stealth, 
trying  to  convince  Malcolm  that  the  wrong  was  not 
really  wrong,  but  was  right  unfortunately  disguised. 


158  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

He  would  take  Malcolm  into  his  confidence  by  slow 
and  roundabout  steps,  thus  multiplying  his  difficulties 
in  discharging  his  "  duty."  If  Coulter's  son  had  not 
been  married  to  Malcolm's  daughter,  it  is  probable  that 
not  even  his  complete  subserviency  would  have  enabled 
him  to  keep  his  place. 

"  If  you  had  told  me  frankly  what  you  wanted  in 
the  first  place,  Mr.  Coulter,"  he  said  after  an  exasper 
ating  episode  in  which  Coulter's  Pharisaic  sensitive 
ness  had  resulted  in  Malcolm's  having  to  "  flop  "  the 
paper  both  editorially  and  in  its  news  columns  twice 
in  three  days,  "  we  would  not  have  made  ourselves 
ridiculous  and  contemptible.  The  public  is  an  ass, 
but  it  is  an  ass  with  a  memory  at  least  three  days 
long.  Your  stealthiness  has  made  the  ass  bray  at  us 
instead  of  with  and  for  us.  And  that  is  dangerous 
when  you  consider  that  running  a  newspaper  is  like 
running  a  restaurant — you  must  please  your  customers 
every  day  afresh." 

Coulter  was  further  difficult  because  of  his  anxieties 
about  social  position  for  himself  and  his  family.  He 
was  disturbed  whenever  the  News-Record  published 
an  item  that  might  offend  any  of  the  people  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  gained  with  so  much  difficulty, 
and  for  whose  good  will  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice 
even  considerable  money.  Personally,  but  very  pri 
vately,  he  edited  the  News-Record's  "  fashionable  intel- 


NEWS-RECORD  GETS  A  NEW  EDITOR.  159 

ligence  "  columns  on  Sunday  and  made  them  an  ex 
hibit  of  his  own  sycophancy  and  snobbishness  which 
excited  the  amused  disgust  of  all  who  were  in  the 
secret. 

Malcolm  liked  Howard,  admired  him,  in  a  way 
envied  his  fearlessness,  his  earnestness  for  principles. 
For  years  he  had  had  it  in  mind  to  retire  and  write 
a  history  of  the  Civil  War  period  which  had  been  his 
own  period  of  greatest  activity  and  most  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  behind-the-scenes  of  statecraft. 
Howard's  energy,  steady  application,  enthusiasm  for 
journalism  and  intelligence  both  as  to  editorials  and 
as  to  news  made  Malcolm  look  upon  him  as  his 
natural  successor. 

"  I  think  Howard  is  the  man  we  want,"  he  said  to 
his  two  associates  when  he  was  arranging  the  dinner. 
"  He  has  new  ideas — just  what  the  paper  needs.  He 
is  in  touch  with  these  recent  developments.  And  above 
all  he  has  judgment.  He  knows  what  not  to  print, 
where  and  how  to  print  what  ought  to  be  printed. 
He  is  still  young  and  is  over-enthusiastic.  He  has 
limitations,  but  he  knows  them  and  he  is  eager  and 
capable  to  learn." 

It  was  a  "  shop "  dinner,  Howard  doing  most  of 
the  talking,  led  on  by  Malcolm.  The  main  point  was 
the  "  new  journalism,"  as  it  was  called,  and  how  to 
adapt  it  to  the  News-Records^  the  News-Record  to  it. 


160  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Malcolm  kept  the  conversation  closely  to  news  and 
news-ideas,  fearing  that,  if  editorial  policies  were 
brought  in,  Howard  would  make  "  breaks."  He  soon 
saw  that  his  associates  were  much  impressed  with 
Howard,  with  his  judgment,  with  his  knowledge  of 
the  details  of  every  important  newspaper  in  the  city, 
with  his  analysis  of  the  good  and  bad  points  in 
each. 

"  I'll  drop  you  at  your  corner,"  said  he  to  Howard 
at  the  end  of  the  dinner.  As  they  drove  up  the  Ave 
nue  he  began  :  "  How  would  you  like  to  be  the  editor 
of  the  News-Record?  My  place,  I  mean." 

"I  don't  understand,"  Howard  answered,  be 
wildered. 

"  I  am  going  to  retire  at  once,"  Malcolm  went  on. 
"  I've  been  at  it  nearly  fifty  years — ever  since  I  was  a 
boy  of  eighteen  and  I've  been  in  charge  there  almost 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  I  think  I've  earned  a  few 
years  of  leisure  to  work  for  my  own  amusement.  I'm 
pretty  sure  they'll  want  you  to  take  my  place.  Would 
you  like  it?" 

"  I'm  not  fit  for  it,"  Howard  said,  and  he  meant  it. 
"  I'm  only  an  apprentice.  I'm  always  making  blun 
ders — but  I  needn't  tell  you  about  that." 

"  You  can't  say  that  you  are  not  fit  until  you  have 
tried.  Besides,  the  question  is  not,  are  yoii  fit  ?  but, 
is  there  any  one  more  fit  than  you  ?  I  confess  I  don't 


NEWS-RECORD  GETS  A  NEW  EDITOR.  161 

see  any  one  so  well  equipped,  so  certain  to  give  the 
paper  all  of  the  best  that  there  is  in  him." 

"  Of  course  I'd  like  to  try.     I  can  only  fail." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  fail.  But  you  may  quarrel  with 
Stokely  and  Coulter — especially  Coulter.  In  fact, 
I'm  sure  you'll  quarrel  with  them.  But  if  you  make 
yourself  valuable  enough,  you'll  probably  win  out. 
Only " 

Malcolm  hesitated,  then  went  on  : 

"  I  stopped  giving  advice  years  ago.  But  I'll  ven 
ture  a  suggestion.  Whenever  your  principles  run 
counter  to  the  policy  of  the  paper,  it  would  be  wise  to 
think  the  matter  over  carefully  before  making  an  issue. 
Usually  there  is  truth  on  both  sides,  much  that  can 
be  said  fairly  and  honestly  for  either  side.  Often 
devotion  to  principle  is  a  mere  prejudice.  Often  the 
crowd,  the  mob,  can  be  better  controlled  to  right  ends 
by  conceding  or  seeming  to  concede  a  principle  for 
the  time.  Don't  strike  a  mortal  blow  at  your  own 
usefulness  to  good  causes  by  making  yourself  a  hasty 
martyr  to  some  fancied  vital  principle  that  will  seem 
of  no  consequence  the  next  morning  but  one  after  the 
election." 

"  I  know,  Mr.  Malcolm,  judgment  is  all  but  impossi 
ble.  And  I  have  been  trying  to  learn  what  you  have 
been  teaching  me  with  your  blue  pencil,  what  you 
now  put  into  words.  But  there  is  something  in  me — • 


1 62  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

an  instinct,  perhaps — that  forces  me  on  in  spite  of  my- 
self.  I've  learned  to  curb  and  guide  it  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  as  long  as  I  am  I,  I  shall  never  learn  to 
control  it.  Every  man  must  work  out  his  own  salva 
tion  along  his  own  lines.  And  with  my  limitations  of 
judgment,  it  would  be  fatal  to  me,  I  feel,  to  study  the 
art  of  compromise.  Where  another,  broader,  stronger, 
more  master  of  himself  and  of  others,  would  succeed 
by  compromising,  I  should  fail  miserably.  I  should 
be  lost,  compassless,  rudderless.  I  have  often  envied 
you  your  calmness,  your  ability  to  see  not  only 
to-morrow  but  the  day  after.  But,  if  I  ever  try 
to  imitate  you,  I  shall  make  a  sad  mess  of  my  ca 
reer." 

As  he  ended  Howard  looked  uneasily  at  the  old 
editor,  expecting  to  see  that  caustic  smile  with  which 
he  preceded  and  accompanied  his  sarcasms  at 
"  sentimental  bosh.'*  But  instead,  Malcolm's  face  was 
melancholy ;  and  his  voice  was  sad  and  weary  as  he 
answered  the  young  man  who  was  just  starting  where 
he  had  started  so  many  years  ago : 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right.  I'm  not  intending  to  try 
to  dissuade  you  from — from  the  best  there  is  in  you. 
All  I  mean  is  that  caution,  self-examination,  self- 
doubt,  calm  consideration  of  the  other  side — these 
are  as  necessary  to  success  as  energy  and  resolute 
action.  All  I  suggest  is  that  its  splendour  does  not 


NEWS-RECORD  GETS  A  NEW  EDITOR.  163 

redeem  a  splendid  folly.  Its  folly  remains  its  essen 
tial  characteristic." 

Three  weeks  later  Howard  became  editor-in-chief 
of  the  News-Record.  His  salary  was  fifteen  thousand 
a  year ;  and  Stokely  and  Coulter,  acting  upon  Mal 
colm's  advice,  gave  him  a  "  free  hand  "  for  one  year. 
They  agreed  not  to  interfere  during  that  time  unless 
the  circulation  or  the  profits  showed  a  decrease  at  the 
end  of  a  quarter. 

The  next  morning  Howard,  in  the  Madison  Avenue 
car  on  his  way  to  the  office,  read  among  the  "  Inci 
dents  in  Society  :  " 

Mrs.  George  Alexander  Provost  and  her  niece,  Miss  Marion 
Trevor,  sailed  in  the  Campania  yesterday.  They  will  return  in 
July  for  the  Newport  season. 


XV. 

YELLOW  JOURNALISM. 

WHILE  several  of  the  New  York  dailies  were  cir 
culating  from  two  to  three  hundred  thousand  copies, 
the  News-Record — the  best-written,  the  most  com 
plete,  and,  where  the  interests  of  the  owners  did  not 
interfere,  the  most  accurate — circulated  less  than  one 
hundred  thousand.  The  Sunday  edition  had  a  circula 
tion  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  where  two 
other  newspapers  had  almost  half  a  million. 

The  theory  of  the  News-Record  staff  was  that  their 
journal  was  too  "  respectable,"  too  intelligent,  to  be 
widely  read  ;  that  the  "  yellow  journals  "  grovelled, 
"  appealed  to  the  mob,"  drew  their  vast  crowds  by  the 
methods  of  the  fakir  and  the  freak.  They  professed 
pride  in  the  News-Record's  smaller  circulation  as  proof 
of  its  freedom  from  vulgarity  and  debasement.  They 
looked  down  upon  the  journalists  of  the  popular 
newspapers  and  posed  as  the  aristocracy  of  the  pro 
fession. 

Howard  did  not  assent  to  these  self-complacent 
excuses.  He  was  democratic  and  modern,  and  the 
aristocratic  pose  appealed  only  to  his  sense  of  humour 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  165 

and  his  suspicions.  He  believed  that  the  success  of 
the  "  yellow  journals  "  with  the  most  intelligent,  alert 
and  progressive  public  in  the  world  must  be  based 
upon  solid  reasons  of  desert,  must  be  in  spite  of,  not 
because  of,  their  follies  and  exhibitions  of  bad  taste. 
He  resolved  upon  a  radical  departure,  a  revolution 
from  the  policy  of  satisfying  petty  vanity  and  tradition 
within  the  office  to  a  policy  of  satisfying  the  demands 
of  the  public. 

He  gave  Segur  temporary  charge  of  the  editorial 
page,  and,  taking  a  desk  in  the  news-room,  centred 
his  attention  upon  news  and  the  news-staff.  But  he 
was  careful  not  to  agitate  and  antagonise  those  whose 
cooperation  was  necessary  to  success.  He  made  only 
one  change  in  the  management ;  he  retired  old  Bow- 
ring  on  a  pension  and  appointed  to  the  city  editorship 
one  of  the  young  reporters — Frank  Cumnock. 

He  chose  Cumnock  for  this  position,  in  many  respects 
the  most  important  on  the  staff  of  a  New  York 
daily,  because  he  wrote  well,  was  a  judge  of  good 
writing,  had  a  minute  knowledge  of  New  York  and  its 
neighbourhood  and,  finally  and  chiefly,  because  he  had 
a  "  news-sense  "  keener  than  that  of  any  other  man  on 
the  paper. 

For  instance,  there  was  the  murder  of  old  Thayer, 
the  rich  miser  in  East  Sixteenth  Street.  It  was  the 
sensation  in  all  the  newspapers  for  two  weeks.  Then 


166  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

they  dropped  it  as  an  unsolvable  mystery.  Cumnock 
persuaded  Mr.  Bowring  to  let  him  keep  on.  After 
five  days'  work  he  heard  of  a  deaf  and  dumb  woman 
who  sat  every  afternoon  at  a  back  window  of  her  flat 
overlooking  the  back  windows  of  Thayer's  house.  He 
had  a  trying  struggle  with  her  infirmity  and  stupidity, 
but  finally  was  rewarded.  On  the  afternoon  of  the 
murder,  in  its  very  hour  (which  the  police  had  been 
able  to  discover),  she  had  seen  a  man  and  woman  in  the 
bathroom  of  the  Thayer  house.  Both  were  agitated 
and  the  man  washed  his  hands  again  and  again,  care 
fully  rinsing  the  bowl  afterward.  From  her  descrip 
tion  Cumnock  got  upon  the  track  of  Thayer's  niece 
and  her  husband,  found  the  proof  of  their  guilt,  had 
them  watched  until  the  News-Record  came  out  with 
the  "  beat,"  then  turned  them  over  to  the  police. 

Also,  Cumnock  was  keen  at  taking  hints  of  good 
news-items  concealed  in  obscure  paragraphs.  The 
Morris  Prison  scandal  was  an  example  of  this.  He 
found  in  the  New  England  edition  of  The  World  a 
six-line  item  giving  an  astonishing  death  rate  for  the 
Morris  Prison.  He  asked  the  City  Editor  to  assign 
him  to  go  there ;  and  within  a  week  thejpress  of  the 
entire  country  was  discussing  the  News-Record's  ex 
posure  of  the  barbarities  of  torture  and  starvation 
practised  by  Warden  Johnson  and  his  keepers. 

"  We  are  going  to  print  the   news,  all  the  news  and 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  167 

nothing  but  the  news,"  Howard  said  to  Cumnock. 
"  They've  put  you  here  because,  so  they  tell  me,  you 
know  news  no  matter  how  thoroughly  it  is  concealed 
or  disguised.  And  I  assure  you  that  no  one  shall 
interfere  with  you.  No  favours  to  anybody  ;  no  use  of 
the  news-columns  for  revenge  or  exploitation.  The 
only  questions  a  news-item  need  raise  in  your  mind  are  : 
Is  it  true?  Is  it  interesting?  Is  it  printable  in  a 
newspaper  that  will  publish  anything  which  a  healthy- 
minded  grown-person  wishes  to  read  ?  " 

"  Is  that  '  straight '  ?  "  asked  Cumnock.  "  No  fa 
vourites?  No  suppressions  ?  No  exploitations?  " 

"  '  Straight '— '  dead  straight  ' !  And  if  I  were  you 
I'd  make  this  particularly  clear  to  the  Wall  Street  and 
political  men.  If  anybody  " — with  stress  upon  the 
anybody — "  comes  to  you  about  this,  send  him  to 
me." 

Howard  was  uneasy  about  the  managing  editor,  Mr. 
King.  But  he  soon  found  that  his  fears  were  ground 
less.  Mr.  King  was  without  petty  vanity,  and  cordially 
and  sincerely  welcomed  his  control. 

"We  look  too  dull,"  King  began  when  Howard 
asked  him  if  he  had  any  changes  to  suggest.  "  We 
need  more  and  bigger  headlines,  and  we  need  pic 
tures." 

"  That  is  it !  "  Howard  was  delighted  to  find  that 
King  and  he  were  in  perfect  accord.  "  But  we  must 


i68  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

not  have  pictures  unless  we  can  have  the  best.  Just 
at  present  we  can't  increase  expenses  by  any  great 
amount.  What  do  you  say  to  trying  what  we  can  do 
with  all  the  news,  larger  headlines  and  plenty  of 
leads  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  we  can  do  better  with  our  class  of  readers 
by  livening  up  the  appearance  of  our  headlines  than 
we  could  with  second-rate  pictures." 

"  I  hope,"  Howard  said  earnestly,  "  that  we  won't 
have  to  use  that  phrase — '  our  class  of  readers  ' — much 
longer.  Our  paper  should  interest  every  man  and 
woman  able  to  read.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  news 
paper's  audience  should  be  like  that  of  a  good  play — 
the  orchestra  chairs  full  and  the  last  seat  in  the 
gallery  taken.  I  suppose  you  know  we're  not  an 
*  organ  '  any  longer  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't."  Mr.  King  looked  surprised.  "Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  we're  free  to  print  the  news  ?  " 

"•  Free  as  freedom.  In  our  news  columns  we're 
neither  Democrat  nor  Republican  nor  Mugwump  nor 
Reform.  We  have  no  Wall  Street  or  social  connec 
tions.  We  are  going  to  print  a  newspaper — all  the 
news  and  nothing  but  the  news." 

Mr.  King  drummed  on  his  desk  softly  with  the  tips 
of  his  outstretched  fingers.  "  Hum — hum,"  he  said. 
"  This  is  news.  Well — the  circulation'll  go  up.  And 
that's  all  I'm  interested  in." 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  169 

Howard  went  about  his  plans  quietly.  He  avoided 
every  appearance  of  exerting  authority,  disturbed  not 
a  wheel  in  the  great  machine.  He  made  his  changes 
so  subtly  that  those  who  received  the  suggestions 
often  came  to  him  a  few  days  afterward,  proposing  as 
their  own  the  very  plans  he  had  hinted.  He  was  thus 
cautious  partly  because  of  his  experience  of  the  vanity 
of  men,  their  sensitiveness  to  criticism,  their  instinc 
tive  opposition  to  improvement  from  without ;  partly 
from  his  knowledge  of  the  hysteria  which  raged  in  the 
offices  of  the  "  yellow  journals."  He  wished  to  avoid 
an  epidemic  of  that  hysteria — the  mad  rush  for  sensa 
tion  and  novelty  ;  the  strife  of  opposing  ambitions  ; 
the  plotting  and  counter-plotting  of  rival  heads  of  de 
partments  ;  the  chaos  out  of  which  the  craziest  ideas 
often  emerged  triumphant,  making  the  pages  of  the 
paper  look  like  a  series  of  disordered  dreams. 

He  was  indifferent  to  the  semblance  of  authority,  to 
the  shadows  for  which  small  men  are  forever  strug 
gling.  What  he  wanted,  all  he  wanted,  was — results. 

The  first  opposition  came  from  the  night  editor, 
who  for  twenty-six  years,  his  weekly  "  night  off " 
and  his  two  weeks'  vacation  in  summer  excepted,  had 
"  made  up  "  the  paper— that  is  to  say,  had  defined, 
with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the  managing  editor, 
the  position  and  order  of  the  various  news  items. 
This  night  editor,  Mr.  Vroom,  was  a  strenuous  con- 


i;o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

servative.  He  believed  that  an  editor's  duty  was 
done  when  he  had  intelligently  arranged  his  paper  so 
that  the  news  was  placed  before  the  reader  in  the 
order  of  its  importance.  Big  headlines,  attempts  at 
effect  with  varying  sizes  of  large  type  and  varying 
column-widths  he  held  to  be  crowd-catching  devices, 
vulgar  and  debasing.  He  had  no  sympathy  with 
Howard's  theory  that  the  first  object  of  a  newspaper 
published  in  a  democratic  republic  is  to  catch  the 
crowd,  to  interest  it,  to  compel  it  to  read,  and  so  to 
lead  it  to  think. 

"  We're  on  the  way  to  scuffling  in  the  gutter  with 
the  '  yellow  journals  '  for  the  pennies  of  the  mob,"  he 
was  saying  sarcastically  to  Mr.  King,  one  afternoon 
just  as  Howard  joined  them. 

Howard  laughed.  "  Not  on  the  way  to  the  gutter, 
Mr.  Vroom.  Actually  in  the  gutter,  actually  scuf 
fling." 

"Well,  I'm  frank  to  say  that  I  don't  like  it.  A 
newspaper  ought  to  appeal  to  the  intelligent." 

"To  intelligence,  yes;  to  the  intelligent,  no.  At 
least  in  my  opinion,  that  is  the  right  theory.  We 
want  people  to  read  us  because  we're  intelligent 
enough  to  know  how  to  please  them,  not  because 
they're  intelligent  enough  to  overcome  the  difficulties 
we  put  in  their  way.  But  let's  go  out  to  dinner  this 
evening  and  talk  it  over." 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  171 

They  dined  together  at  Mouquin's  every  night  for 
a  week.  At  the  end  of  that  time  Vroom,  still  sarcas 
tic  and  grumbling,  was  a  convert.  And  a  great  acces 
sion  Howard  found  him.  He  had  sound  judgment  as 
to  the  value  of  news-items — what  demanded  first  page, 
the  "  show-window,"  because  it  would  interest  every 
body  ;  what  was  worth  a  line  on  an  inside  page  be 
cause  it  would  interest  only  a  few  thousands.  He 
was  the  most  skillful  of  the  News-Record's  many  good 
writers  of  headlines,  a  master  of  that,  for  the  news 
paper,  art  of  arts — condensed  and  interesting  state 
ment,  alluring  the  glancing  reader  to  read  on.  Also 
he  had  an  eye  for  effects  with  type.  "  You  make 
every  page  a  picture,"  Howard  said  to  him.  "  It  is 
wonderful  how  you  balance  your  headlines,  emphasi 
sing  the  important  news  yet  saving  the  minor  items 
from  obscurity.  I  should  like  to  see  the  paper  you 
would  make  if  you  had  the  right  sort  of  illustrations 
to  put  in." 

Vroom  was  amazed  at  himself.  He  who  had  op 
posed  any  "  head  "  which  broke  the  column  rule  was 
now  so  far  degenerated  into  a ''yellow  journalist" 
that,  when  Howard  spoke  of  illustrations,  he  actually 
longed  to  test  his  skill  at  distributing  them  effectively. 

##-*#-3f#*# 

Two  months  of  hard  work,  tedious,  because  neces 
sarily  so  indirect,  produced  a  newspaper  which  was  "  on 


172  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  right  lines/'  as  Howard  understood  right  lines. 
And  he  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  make  the 
necessary  radical  changes  in  the  editorial  page. 

The  Neivs-Record  had  long  posed  as  independent  be- 
cause  it  supported  now  one  political  party  and  now  the 
other,  or  divided  its  support.  But  this  superficial 
independence  was  in  reality  subservience  to  the  finan 
cial  interests  of  the  two  principal  owners.  They 
made  their  newspaper  assail  Republican  or  Democratic 
corruption  and  misgovernment  in  city,  state  or  nation, 
according  as  their  personal  interests  lay.  They  used 
the  editorial  page  and,  to  even  better  advantage,  the 
news-columns,  in  revenging  themselves  for  too  heavy 
levies  of  blackmail  upon  their  corrupt  interests  or  in 
securing  unjust  legislation  and  privileges. 

Obedient  and  cynical  Mr.  Malcolm  had  made  the 
editorial  page  corrupt  and  brilliant — 'never  so  effective 
as  when  assailing  a  good  cause.  The  great  misfortune 
of  good  causes  is  that  they  attract  so  many  fatal 
friends — the  superciliously  conscientious ;  the  well- 
meaning  but  feeble-minded  and  blundering  ;  the  most 
offensive  because  least  deceptive  kinds  of  hypocrites. 
Mr.  Malcolm,  as  acute  as  he  was  intellectually  un 
scrupulous,  well  understood  how  to  weaken  or  to  ruin 
a  just  cause  through  these  supporters.  Sometimes  he 
stood  afar  off,  showering  the  poisoned  arrows  of  rail 
lery  and  satire.  Again  he  was  the  plain-spoken  friend 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  173 

of  the  cause  and  warned  its  honest  supporters  against 
these  "  fool  friends  "  whom  he  pretended  to  regard  as 
its  leaders.  Again  he  played  the  part  of  a  blind  en 
thusiast  and  praised  folly  as  wisdom  and  urged  it  on 
to  more  damaging  activities. 

"  We  abhor  humbug  here/'  he  used  to  say  ;  and 
perhaps  he  did  in  a  measure  excuse  himself  to  his  con 
science  with  the  phrase.  But  in  fact  his  editorial 
page  was  usually  a  succession  of  humbugs,  of  brilliant 
hypocrisies  and  cheats  perpetrated  under  the  guise  of 
exposing  humbug. 

Just  as  Howard  was  ready  to  reverse  Malcolm's 
editorial  programme,  New  York  was  seized  with  one  of 
its  "  periodic  spasms  of  virtue."  The  city  government 
was,  as  usual,  in  the  hands  of  the  two  bosses  who 
owned  the  two  political  machines.  One  was  taking 
the  responsibility  and  the  larger  share  of  the  spoils ; 
the  other  was  maintaining  him  in  power  and  getting 
the  smaller  but  a  satisfactory  share.  The  alliance 
between  the  police  and  criminal  vice  had  become  so 
open  and  aggressive  under  this  bi-boss  patronage  that 
the  people  were  aroused  and  indignant.  But  as  they 
had  no  capable  leaders  and  no  way  of  selecting  leaders, 
there  arose  a  self-constituted  leadership  of  uptown 
Phariseeism  and  sentimentality,  planning  the  "  purifi 
cation  "  of  the  city. 

Every  man  of  sense  knowing  human  nature  and  the 


i;4  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

conditions  of  city  life  knew  that  this  plan  was  fore, 
doomed  to  ridiculous  failure,  and  that  the  event  would 
be  a  popular  revulsion  against  "  reform." 

"  Why  not  speak  the  truth  about  these  vice- 
hunters?  "  Howard  was  discussing  the  situation  with 
three  of  his  editorial  writers — Segur,  Huntington  and 
Montgomery. 

"  It's  mighty  dangerous,"  Montgomery  objected. 
"  You  will  be  sticking  knives  into  a  sacred  Anglo- 
Saxon  hypocrisy." 

"  Yes,  we'll  have  all  the  good  people  about  our 
ears,"  said  Segur.  "  We'll  be  denounced  as  a  defender 
of  depravity,  a  foe  of  purity.  They'll  thunder  away 
at  us  from  every  pulpit.  The  other  newspapers  will 
take  it  up,  especially  those  that  expect  to  sell  millions 
of  papers  containing  accounts  of  the  *  exposure  '  of  the 
dives  and  dens." 

"  That's  good.  I  hope  we  shall,"  said  Howard 
cheerfully.  "  It  will  advertise  us  tremendously." 

The  three  were  better  pleased  than  they  would 
have  admitted  to  themselves  by  the  seeming  certainty 
of  Howard's  impending  undoing. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  Howard  said,  as  they  were  about 
to  go  to  their  rooms  for  the  day's  work.  "  There's  no 
danger  in  attacking  any  hypocrisy.  Don't  attack 
beliefs  that  are  universal  or  nearly  universal — at  least 
not  openly.  But  don't  be  afraid  of  a  hypocrisy  be- 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  175 

cause  it  is  universal.  People  know  that  they  are 
hypocrites  in  respect  of  it.  They  may  not  have  the 
courage  publicly  to  applaud  you.  But  they'll  be  pri 
vately  delighted  and  will  admire  your  courage.  We'll 
try  to  be  discreet  and  we'll  be  careful  to  be  truthful. 
And  we'll  begin  by  making  these  gentlemen  show 
themselves  up." 

The  next  morning  the  News-Record  published  a 
double-leaded  editorial.  It  described  the  importance 
of  improving  political  and  social  conditions  in  New 
York ;  it  went  on  to  note  the  distinguished  names  on 
the  committee  for  the  destruction  of  vice ;  it  closed 
with  the  announcement  that  on  the  following  day  the 
News-Record  would  publish  the  views  of  these  eminent 
reformers  upon  conditions  and  remedies. 

The  next  day  he  printed  the  interviews — a  collection 
of  curiosities  in  utopianism,  cant,  ignorant  fanaticism, 
provincialism,  hypocrisy.  These  appeared  strictly  as 
news;  for  the  cardinal  principle  of  Howard's  theory 
of  a  newspaper  was  that  it  had  no  right  to  intrude  its 
own  views  into  its  news-columns.  On  the  editorial 
page  he  riddled  the  interviews.  By  adroit  quotations, 
by  contrasting  one  with  another,  he  showed,  or  rather 
made  the  so-called  reformers  themselves  show,  that 
where  they  were  sincere  they  were  in  the  main  silly, 
and  where  they  were  plausible  they  were  in  the  main 
insincere ;  that  every  man  of  them  had  his  own  pet 


i/6  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

scheme  for  the  salvation  of  wicked  New  York  ;  and 
that  they  could  not  possibly  accomplish  anything 
more  valuable  than  leading  the  people  on  the  familiar, 
aimless,  demoralizing  excursion  through  the  slums. 

On  the  following  day  he  frankly  laughed  at  them 
as  a  lot  of  impracticables  who  either  did  not  know  the 
patent  facts  of  city  life  or  refused  to  admit  those 
facts.  And  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  real  problem, 
a  respectable  administration  for  the  city — a  practical 
end  which  could  easily  be  accomplished  by  practical 
action.  From  day  to  day  he  kept  this  up,  publishing 
a  splendid  series  of  articles,  humorous,  witty,  satirical, 
eloquent,  bold,  with  a  dominant  strain  of  sincerity 
and  plain  common  sense.  As  his  associates  had  pre 
dicted,  a  storm  gathered  and  burst  in  fury  about  the 
News-Record.  It  was  denounced  by  "  leading  citi 
zens,"  including  many  of  the  clergy.  Its  "  esteemed  " 
contemporaries  published  and  endorsed  and  amplified 
the  abuse.  And  its  circulation  went  up  at  the  rate  of 
five  thousand  a  day. 

When  the  storm  was  at  its  height,  when  the  whole 
town  seemed  to  be  agreeing  with  the  angry  reformers 
but  was  quietly  laughing  at  their  folly  and  hypocrisy, 
Howard  threw  his  bomb.  On  a  Saturday  morning  he 
gave  half  of  his  first  page  with  big  but  severely  impar 
tial  headlines  to  an  analysis  of  the  members  of  the 
vice  committee — a  broadside  of  facts  often  hinted  but 


YELLOW  JOURNALISM.  177 

never  before  verified  and  published.  First  came  those 
who  owned  property  and  sub-let  it  for  vicious  purposes, 
the  property  and  purpose  specified  in  detail ;  then 
those  who  were  directors  in  corporations  which  had  got 
corrupt  privileges  from  the  local  boss,  the  privileges 
being  carefully  specified,  and  also  the  amounts  of 
which  they  had  robbed  the  city.  Last  came  those 
who  were  directors  in  corporations  which  had  bought 
from  the  State-boss  injustices  and  licenses  to  rob,  the 
specifications  given  in  damning  detail. 

His  leading  editorial  was  entitled  "  Why  We  Don't 
Have  Decent  Government."  It  was  powerful  in  its 
simplicity,  its  merciless  raillery  and  irony ;  and  only 
at  the  very  end  did  it  contain  passion.  There,  in  a 
few  eloquent  sentences  he  arraigned  these  professed 
reformers  who  were  growing  rich  through  the  boss- 
system,  who  were  trafficking  with  the  bosses  and  were 
now  engaged  in  wrecking  the  hopes  of  honesty  and 
decency.  On  that  day  the  Nezus-Record's  circulation 
went  up  thirty  thousand.  The  town  rang  with  its 
"exposure"  and  the  attention  of  the  whole  country 
was  arrested.  It  was  one  of  the  historic  "beats"  of 
New  York  journalism.  The  reputation  of  the  Neivs- 
Record  for  fearlessness  and  truth-telling  and  news- 
enterprise  was  established.  At  abound  it  had  become 
the  most  conspicuous  and  one  of  the  most  powerful 
journals  in  New  York. 


XVI. 

MR.  STOKELY  IS  TACTLESS. 

HOWARD,  riding  in  the  Park  one  morning  late  in 
the  spring,  came  upon  Mrs.  Carnarvon.  She  gave  him 
no  chance  to  evade  her,  but  joined  him  and  accommo 
dated  her  horse's  pace  to  his. 

"And  are  you  still  on  the  News-Record?  "  she  said. 
"I  hope  not." 

"  Why  ?  "  Howard  was  smiling,  glad  to  get  an  out 
side  view  of  what  he  had  been  doing. 

"Because  it's  become  so  sensational.  It  used  to  be 
such  a  nice  paper.  And  now — gracious,  what  head 
lines  !  What  attacks  on  the  very  best  people  in  the 
town ! " 

"Dreadful,  isn't  it  ?"  laughed  Howard.  "We've 
become  so  depraved  that  we  are  actually  telling  the 
truth  about  somebodies  instead  of  only  about  no 
bodies." 

"  I  might  have  known  that  you  would  sympathise 
with  that  sort  of  thing."  Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  teas 
ing,  yet  reproachful.  "  You  always  were  an  anarchist." 

"  Is  it  anarchistic  to  be  no  respecter  of  persons  and 
to  put  big  headlines  over  big  items  and  little  headlines 
over  little  items?  " 


MR.  STOKELY  IS  TACTLESS.  179 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  You  are  encouraging 
the  unruly  classes." 

"  Dear  me !  And  we  thought  we  were  fighting  the 
unruly  class.  We  thought  that  it  was  our  friends 
— or  rather,  your  friends — the  franchise  grabbers 
and  legislature-buyers  who  won't  obey  the  laws 
unless  the  laws  happen  to  suit  their  convenience. 
They're  the  only  unruly  class  I  know  anything  about. 
I've  heard  of  another  kind  but  I've  never  been  able  to 
find  it.  And  I  never  hear  much  about  it  except 
when  a  lot  of  big  rascals  are  making  off  weighted  down 
with  plunder.  They  always  shout  back  over  their 
shoulders  :  '  Don't  raise  a  disturbance  or  you'll  arouse 
the  unruly  classes.'  ' 

Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  laughing.  "  You  put  it  well," 
she  said,  "and  I'm  not  clever  enough  to  answer  you. 
But  they  all  tell  me  the  News-Record  has  become 
a  dangerous  paper,  that  it's  attacking  everybody  who 
has  anything." 

"  Anything  he  has  stolen,  yes.     But  that's  all." 

"  You  can't  get  me  to  sympathise  with  you.  I  like 
well-dressed,  well-mannered  people  who  speak  good 
English." 

"  So  do  I.  That's  why  I'm  doing  all  in  my  power 
to  improve  the  conditions  for  making  more  and  more 
people  of  the  sort  one  likes  to  talk  to  and  dine 
with." 


1 8o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  sympathised  with  the  lower 
classes.*' 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Who  has  been  maligning  me  to 
you  ?  I  abhor  the  lower  classes — so  much  so  that  I 
wish  to  see  them  abolished." 

"  Well,  youll  have  to  blame  Marian  for  misleading 
me." 

"Miss  Trevor?  How  is  she?"  Mrs.  Carnarvon 
was  looking  closely  at  him,  and  he  was  not  sure  that 
he  succeeded  in  showing  nothing  more  than  friendly 
interest. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  from  her  ?  She's  in  England, 
visiting  in  Lancashire.  You  know  her  cousin  married 
Lord  Cranmore." 

"  I  saw  in  the  papers  several  months  ago  that  she  was 
going  abroad.  I  haven't  heard  a  word  since." 

Mrs.  Carnarvon  started  to  say  something,  but 
changed  her  mind. 

"  When  is  she  coming  home  ?  " 

"  Not  until  July.  You  must  come  to  see  us  at 
Newport." 

"  Nothing  could  please  me  better — if  I  can  get 
away." 

"  I'll  send  you   an  invitation,   although  you  have 

treated  me  very  badly  of  late.     But  I  suppose  you  are 

i_         '» 

busy. 

"  Busy  ?     Isn't  a  galley  slave  always  busy  ?  " 


MR.  STONELY  IS  TACTLESS.  181 

"Are  you  still  writing  editorials?" 

"  Yes — and  on  the  fallen  News-Record.     In  fact " 

«  Well— what  ?  " 

Howard  laughed.  "Don't  faint,"  he  said.  "I'll 
leave  you  at  once  if  you  wish  me  to,  and  I'll  never 
give  it  away  that  you  once  knew  me.  I'm  the  editor 
— the  responsible  devil  for  the  depravity." 

"  How  interesting  !  "  Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  evidently 
not  disturbed.  Then  the  American  adoration  of  suc 
cess  came  out.  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  getting  on.  I 
always  knew  you  would.  Really,  you  must  come  to 
dinner.  I'll  invite  some  of  the  people  you've  been 
attacking.  They'll  like  to  look  at  you,  and  you  will  be 
amused  by  them.  And  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  your 
giving  it  to  them  if  they  bait  you,  as  I  did  this  morn 
ing.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  If  I  may  leave  by  ten  o'clock.  I  go  down  town 
every  night." 

"  Why,  when  do  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  these  days.  Life's  too  interesting  to  per 
mit  of  much  sleep.  I'll  make  up  when  it  slackens  a  bit." 

As  he  was  turning  his  horse,  she  said  :  "  Marian's 
address  is  Claridge's,  Brooke  Street,  Mayfair.  If  she 
isn't  there,  they  forward  her  mail." 

Howard  was  puzzled.  "  What  made  her  give  me 
that  address?"  he  thought.  "  I  know  she  didn't  like 
my  seeing  so  much  of  Marian.  And  here  she  is 


182  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

practically  inviting  me  to  write  to  her."  He  could  not 
understand  it.  "  If  I  were  not  a  '  yellow  '  editor  and 
if  Marian  were  not  engaged  to  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  New  York,  I'd  say  that  this  lady  was  encouraging 
me."  He  smiled.  "  Not  yet — not  just  yet."  And  he 
cheerfully  urged  his  horse  into  a  canter. 

Mrs.  Carnarvon's  opinion  of  the  News-Record  and 
its  recent  performances  fairly  represented  that  of 
the  fashionable  and  the  very  rich.  They  read  it,  as 
they  never  did  before,  because  it  interested  them. 
They  could  not  deny  that  what  it  said  was  true  ;  that 
is,  they  could  not  deny  it  to  their  own  minds,  al 
though  they  did  vigorously  deny  it  publicly.  Those 
who  were  attacked  directly  or  indirectly,  or  expected 
to  be  attacked,  denounced  the  paper  as  an  "  outrage," 
a  "  disgrace  to  the  city,"  a  "  specimen  of  the  journal 
ism  of  the  gutter."  Many  who  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  the  men  or  the  methods  assailed  thought  that 
its  course  was  "  inexpedient,"  "  tended  to  increase 
discontent  among  the  lower  classes,"  "  weakened  the 
influence  of  the  better  classes."  Only  a  few  of  the 
"  triumphant  classes  "  saw  the  real  value  and  benefit 
of  the  News-Record's  frank  attacks  upon  greed  and 
hypocrisy,  saw  that  these  attacks  were  not  dangerous 
or  demagogical  because  they  were  just  and  were  com 
bined  with  a  careful  avoidance  of  encouragement  to  the 
lazy,  the  envious,  the  incompetent  and  the  ignorant. 


MR.  STOKELY  IS  TACTLESS.  183 

Fortunately  for  Howard's  peace,  that  eminent  New 
York  "  multi,"  Samuel  Jocelyn,  for  whom  Coulter  had 
the  highest  respect,  was  of  this  last  class.  When 
Howard  began,  Coulter  was  at  Aiken  where  Jocelyn 
had  a  cottage.  He  had  never  been  able  to  make 
headway  with  Jocelyn,  and  Mrs.  Jocelyn  deigned  to 
give  him  and  Mrs.  Coulter  only  the  coldest  of  cold 
nods.  Just  as  Coulter  had  become  so  agitated  by 
Howard's  radical  course  that  he  was  preparing  to  go 
to  New  York  to  remonstrate  with  him,  Jocelyn  called. 

"  I  came  to  thank  you  for  what  you  are  doing  with 
your  paper,"  he  said  cordially.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
all  intelligent  men  who  are  not  blind  to  their  own 
ultimate  interests  ought  to  stand  by  you.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  much  I  admire  your  frankness  and 
honesty.  And  you  draw  the  line  just  right.  You 
attack  plunder,  you  defend  property.  Will  your  wife 
and  you  dine  with  us  this  evening?'* 

Coulter  postponed  his  trip  to  New  York. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  first  three  months  the  circula 
tion  of  the  News-Record  was  147,253 — an  increase  of 
42,150  over  what  it  was  on  the  day  Howard  took 
charge;  its  advertising  had  increased  twelve  per  cent  ; 
its  net  profits  for  the  quarter  were  seventy-five  thousand 
dollars  as  against  fifty-seven  thousand  for  the  preced* 
ing  quarter. 

"  Very  good  indeed,"  was  Stokely's  comment. 


1 84  THE  GREAT   GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Another  quarter  like  this,"  said  Howard,  "  and 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me  increase  expenses  a 
thousand  dollars  a  week  to  illustrate  the  paper/' 

"  We'll  talk  that  over  with  Coulter.  Personally  I 
like  this  *  yellow-journalism  ' — when  it's  done  intelli 
gently.  I  always  told  Coulter  we'd  have  to  come  to 
it.  It's  only  common  sense  to  make  a  paper  easy 
reading.  Then,  too,  we  can  have  a  great  deal  more 
influence — in  fact,  we  have  already.  I'm  getting  what 
I  want  up  at  Albany  this  winter  much  cheaper." 

Howard  winced.  "  He  made  me  feel  like  a  black 
mailer,"  he  said  to  himself  when  Stokely  had  gone. 
"And  I  suppose  these  fellows  do  look  on  me  as  a  new 
Malcolm  with  up-to-date  tricks.  Well,  they  will  see, 
they  will  see." 

He  tried  to  go  on  with  his  work,  but  Stokely's 
cynical  words  persistently  interrupted  him.  Why  had 
he  not  squarely  challenged  Stokely  then  and  there  ? 
Why  had  he  only  winced  where  a  year  ago  he  would 
have  demanded  an  explanation  ? 

He  hated  to  confess  it  to  himself,  he  made  every 
effort  to  smother  it,  but  the  thought  still  stared  him  in 
the  face — "  I  am  not  so  strong  in  my  ideals  of  personal 
character  as  I  was  a  year  ago." 

The  fact  that  his  present  course  was  profitable  gave 
him,  he  felt,  more  pleasure  than  the  fact  that  it  was 
right.  If  the  alternative  of  wealth  and  power  with  self* 


MR.  STOKELY  IS  TACTLESS.  185 

abasement  or  poverty,  obscurity  with  self-respect  were 
put  to  him  now,  what  would  he  decide  ?  Would  he  give 
up  his  prospects,  his  hopes  of  Marian  and  of  an  easy 
career  ?  He  was  afraid  to  answer.  He  contented  him 
self  with  one  of  his  habitual  evasions — "  I  will  settle 
that  when  the  time  comes.  No,  Stokely's  remark  did 
not  make  a  crisis.  If  the  crisis  ever  does  come,  surely 
I  will  act  like  a  man.  I'll  be  securer  then,  more  neces 
sary  to  this  pair  of  plunderers,  able  to  make  bettef 
terms  for  myself.  In  practical  life,  it  is  necessary  to 
sacrifice  something  in  order  to  succeed." 

But  Stokely's  words  and  his  own  silence  and  the 
real  reasons  for  his  changing  ideals  and  for  his  cow 
ardice  continued  to  annoy  him. 

Every  day  he  came  down  town  planning  for  a  better 
newspaper  the  next  morning  than  they  had  ever  made 
before.  And  his  vigour,  his  enthusiasm  permeated  the 
entire  office.  He  went  from  one  news  department  to 
another,  suggesting,  asking  for  suggestions,  praising, 
criticising  judiciously  and  with  the  greatest  considera 
tion  for  vanity.  He  talked  with  the  reporters,  urging 
them  on  by  showing  keen  interest  in  them  and  their 
work,  and  intimate  knowledge  of  what  they  were  doing. 
And  he  dictated  every  day  telegrams  to  correspond 
ents,  thanking  them  for  any  conspicuously  good  stor 
ies  they  had  telegraphed  in,  adding  something  to  the 


186  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

compensation  of  those  who  were  paid  by  space  and 
made  little. 

If  his  work  had  not  been  his  amusement  the  long 
hours,  the  constant  application,  would  have  broken 
him  down.  But  he  had  no  interests  outside  the  office 
and  he  got  his  mental  recreation  by  shifting  his  mind 
from  one  department  to  another. 

In  June  his  salary  was  increased  to  twenty-five 
thousand  a  year  and  his  last  lingering  feeling  of  finan 
cial  insecurity  disappeared.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  felt  strong  enough  to  undertake  a  serious  re 
sponsibility,  to  give  hostages  to  fortune  without  fear 
of  being  unable  to  keep  faith.  He  learned  from  Mrs. 
Carnarvon  that  Marian  was  returning  on  the  Oceanic 
on  the  ninth  of  July,  and  he  accepted  a  Saturday-to- 
Monday  invitation  to  Newport  for  the  twelfth  of  July. 
It  was  from  Segur  that  he  got  the  news  that  Danvers 
was  in  Japan  and  was  not  returning  until  the  autumn. 

On  the  ninth  of  July,  from  the  window  of  his  office,  he 
saw  the  Oceanic  steam  up  the  bay  and  up  the  river  to 
her  pier.  He  sent  down  a  request  that  the  ship-news 
reporter  be  sent  up  as  soon  as  he  returned. 

"  Is  it  a  good  story?"  he  asked  when  the  reporter, 
Blackwell,  entered.  "  Was  there  anybody  on  board  ?  " 

"  A  lot  of  swell  people,"  the  young  man  answered  ; 
"all  the  women  got  up  in  the  latest  Paris  gowns." 

"Did  you  notice  whether  Mrs.  Provost  came?" 


MR.  STOKELY  IS  TACTLESS.  187 

"Came?  Well,  rather,  with  two  French  maids 
chattering  and  chasing  after  her.  And  there  was  a 
tall  girl  with  her,  a  stunner,  a  girl  she  called  '  Marian, 
my  dear.' " 

Howard  stopped  him  with  "Thank  you.  Don't 
write  anything  about  them." 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  I  saw — the  funniest." 

"Well— don't  use  the  names." 

Young  Blackwell  turned  to  go.  "  Oh,  I  see — friends 
of  yours,"  he  smiled.  "  Very  well.  I'll  keep  'em  out." 

Howard  flushed  and  called  him  back.  "  Go  ahead," 
he  said.  "  Write  just  what  you  were  going  to.  Of 
course  you  wouldn't  write  anything  that  was  not  fair 
and  truthful.  We  don't  '  play  favourites  '  here.  For 
get  what  I  said." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Mrs.  Provost,  half 
pleased,  half  indignant,  said  to  Miss  Trevor  as  they 
sat  in  the  drawing  room  of  the  Pullman  on  the  way  to 
Newport  the  next  day  :  "  Just  look  at  this,  Marian 
dear,  in  the  horrid  News-Record.  And  it  used  to  be 
such  a  nice  paper  with  that  slimy  Coulter  bowing  and 
scraping  to  everybody." 

"  This  "  was  Mrs.  Provost  and  her  dogs  and  her 
maids  and  her  asides  to  "  Marian  dear,"  described 
with  accuracy  and  a  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous. 

"  It's  too  dreadful,"  she  continued.  "  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  privacy  in  this  country.  The  news- 


188  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

papers  are  making  us,"  with  a  slight  accent  on  the 
pronoun,  "  as  common  and  public  as  tenement-house 
people." 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Trevor  answered  absently.  "  But  why 
read  the  newspapers  ?  I  never  could  get  interested  in 
them,  though  I've  tried." 


XVII. 

A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING. 

ON  the  evening  of  Howard's  arrival  at  Newport, 
Mrs.  Carnarvon  was  having  a  few  people  in  to  dine. 
He  had  just  time  to  dress  and  so  saw  no  one  until  he 
descended  to  the  reception  room. 

"  You  are  to  take  in  Marian,"  said  his  hostess,  going 
with  him  to  where  Miss  Trevor  was  sitting,  her  back 
to  the  door  and  her  attention  apparently  absorbed  by 
the  man  facing  her. 

"  Here's  Mr.  Howard,  Marian,"  Mrs.  Carnarvon 
interrupted.  "  Come  with  me,  Willie.  Your  lady  is 
over  here  and  we're  going  in  directly." 

Marian  saw  that  Howard  was  looking  at  her  in  the 
straight,  frank  fashion  she  remembered  and  liked  so 
well.  "  I've  come  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  you  are  to  take  me  in,"  she  evaded,  her  look 
even  lamer  than  her  words. 

"You  know  what  I  mean."  He  was  smiling,  his 
heart  in  his  eyes,  as  if  the  dozen  people  were  not 
about  them. 

"  I  see  you  have  not  changed,"  she  laughed,  answer 
ing  his  look  in  kind. 


igo  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"Changed?  I'm  revolutionized.  I  was  blind  and 
now  I  see.  I  was  paralyzed  and  behold,  I  walk.  I 
was  weak  and  lo,  I  am  strong — strong  enough  for 
two,  if  necessary." 

"  Now,  hasn't  it  occurred  to  you  that  I  might  possi 
bly  have  something  to  say  about  my  own  fate  ?  " 

"You?  Why,  you  had  everything  to  say.  I  rea 
soned  it  all  out  with  you.  You  simply  can't  add  any 
thing  to  the  case  I  made  you  make  out  for  yourself 
when  I  talked  it  over  with  you.  I  made  you  protest 
very  vigorously." 

"  Well,  what  did  I  say — that  is,  what  did  you  make 
me  say  ?  " 

"You  said  you  were  engaged — pledged  to  another 
— that  you  could  not  draw  back  without  dishonour. 
And  I  answered  that  no  engagement  could  bind  you 
to  become  the  wife  of  a  man  you  did  not  love  ;  that 
no  moral  code  could  hold  you  to  such  a  sin  ;  that  no 
code  of  honour  could  command  you  to  permit  a  man  to 
degrade  himself  and  you.  Then  you  pleaded  that 
you  were  not  sure  you  liked  my  kind  of  a  life,  that 
you  feared  you  wanted  wealth  and  a  great  establish 
ment  and  social  leadership  and — and  all  that." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  Marian  said  with  exaggerated  astonish 
ment. 

"  You  did  indeed.  You  were  perfectly  open  with 
me.  You  let  me  see  all  that  part  of  you  which  we 


A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING.          191 

try  to  keep  concealed  and  fancy  we  are  concealing — all 
that  one  really  feels  and  wishes  and  thinks  as  dis 
tinguished  from  what  one  fancies  he  ought  to  feel  and 
wish  and  think." 

"  I  wonder  that  you  cared,  after  a  glance  behind 
that  curtain." 

"  Oh,  but  I  like  what  is  behind  that  curtain  best  of 
all.  The  very  human  things  are  there.  They  make 
me  feel  so  at  home." 

Dinner  was  announced  and  it  was  not  until  the 
second  course  that  he  had  a  chance  to  resume.  Then 
he  began  as  if  there  had  been  no  interval : 

'•You  said " 

Marian  laughed  and  looked  at  him — a  flash  of  her 
luminous  blue-green  eyes — and  was  looking  away  again 
with  her  usual  expression.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  the 
rest.  It  doesn't  matter  what  I  said.  I've  had  you 
with  me  wherever  I  went.  You  never  doubted  my — 
my  caring,  did  you?" 

"  No.  I  couldn't  doubt  you.  If  you  were  the  sort 
of  woman  a  man  could  doubt,  you  wouldn't  be  the 
sort  of  woman  I  could  love.  And  you  know  it  isn't 
vanity  that  makes  me  sure.  I  often  wonder  how  you 
happened  to  care  for  such  a — but  I  must  not  attack 
any  one  whom  you  like  so  well.  No,  I  knew  you  cared 
by  the  same  instinct  that  makes  you  know  that  I  care 
for  you." 


1 92  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"But  why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  won  a  position  for  myself,  have 
enough  to  enable  us  to  live  without  eternally  fretting 
over  money-matters.  I  feel  that  I  have  the  right  to 
come.  And  then  I  could  not  be  interested  to  live  on, 
without  you  ;  and  I'm  willing  to  face,  willing  to  have 
you  face,  whatever  may  come  to  us  through  me.  I 
know  that  you  and  I  together " 

"  Not  now — don't — please."  Marian  was  pale  and 
she  was  obviously  under  a  great  strain.  "  You 
see,  you  knew  all  about  this.  But  I  didn't  until  you 
looked  at  me  when  Jessie  brought  you.  It  makes  me 
• — happy — I  am  so  happy.  But  I  must — I  can't  con 
trol  myself  here."  She  leaned  over  as  if  her  napkin 
had  slipped  to  the  floor.  "  I  love  you,"  she  mur 
mured. 

It  was  Howard's  turn  to  struggle  for  self-control. 
"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  why  you  wished  me  not  to 
go  on.  You  never  said  those  words  to  me  before — 
and " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  have — many  and  many  a  time." 

"  With  your  eyes,  but  not  with  your  voice — at  least 
not  so  that  I  could  hear.  And — well,  it  is  not  easy 
to  loo'<:  calm  and  only  friendly  when  every  nerve  in 
one's  body  is  vibrating  like  a  violin  string  under  the 
bow.  Yes,  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I've  never 
been  acutely  conscious  of  the  presence  of  others  when 


A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING.          193 

I've  been  with  you.     To-night  I'm  in  great  danger  of 

forgetting  them  altogether." 

"  That  would  be   so  like   you."     Marian   laughed, 

then  raised  her  voice  a   little   and  went   on.     "  Yes, 

your  little  restaurant  in  the  Rue  Louis  le  Grand  was 

gone.     There  was  a  dressmaker  in  its  place — Raudinitz. 

She  made  this.     How  do  you  like  it  ?  " 
"  It  has  the  air  of — of  belonging  to  you." 
Marian    looked    amused.      Howard   shrugged     his 

shoulders.     "  All  roads  lead  to  Rome,"  he  said. 


Carnarvon  hung  about  until  the  women  went  to  bed, 
so  Howard  and  Marian  had  no  opportunity  to  be  alone. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  his  last  chance  vanish,  he  went  to 
his  own  room,  to  the  solitude  of  its  balcony  in  the 
shadow  of  the  projecting  fagade  with  the  moonlight 
flooding  the  rocks  and  the  sea. 

As  he  sat  smoking,  the  recession  came,  the  reaction 
from  weeks  of  nervous  tension.  And  with  the  ebb  of 
the  tide  entered  that  Visitor  who  alone  has  the 
privilege  of  the  innermost  chamber  where  lives  the 
man  himself,  unmasked  of  all  vanity  and  show  and 
pretense.  The  visit  was  not  unexpected  ;  for  at  every 
such  crisis  every  one  is  certain  of  a  call  from  this  Visitor, 
this  merciless  critic,  plain  and  rude  of  speech,  rare  and 
reluctant  in  praise,  so  mocking  in  our  moments  of 


194  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

elation,  so  cruelly  frank  about  our  follies  and  self, 
excuses  when  he  comes  in  our  moments  of  depres 
sion. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  marry  ? "  the  Visitor  said 
abruptly.  "  I  thought  you  had  made  up  your  mind 
on  that  subject  long  ago." 

"  Love  changes  a  man's  point  of  view,"  Howard 
replied,  timid  and  apologetic  before  this  quiet,  relent 
less  other-self. 

"  But  it  doesn't  change  the  facts  of  life,  does  it  ? 
It  doesn't  change  character,  does  it?" 

"  I  think  so.  For  instance,  it  has  changed  me.  It 
has  made  a  man  of  me.  It  has  been  the  inspiration  of 
the  past  year,  strengthening  me,  making  me  ambitious, 
energetic.  Have  I  not  thought  of  her  all  the  time, 
worked  for  her  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  uncommonly  persistent — as  you 
always  are  when  you  are  thwarted."  The  Visitor  wore 
a  satirical  smile.  "  But  a  spurt  of  inspiration  is  one 
thing.  A  wife — responsibility — fetters " 

"  Not  when  one  loves." 

"  That  depends  upon  the  kind  of  love — and  the  kind 
of  woman — and  the  kind  of  man." 

"  Could  there  be  any  higher  kind  of  love  than 
ours  ?  " 

"  Most  romantic,  most  high-minded — quite  idyllic." 
The  Visitor's  tone  was  gently  mocking.  "  And  I  don't 


A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING.          195 

deny  that  you  may  go  on  loving  each  the  other.  But 
— how  does  she  fit  in  with  your  scheme  of  life  ?  What 
does  she  really  know  of  or  care  about  your  ambitions? 
Why,  you  had  so  little  confidence  in  her  that  you 
didn't  dare  to  think  of  marrying  her  until  you  had  an 
income  which  you  once  would  have  thought  wealth — an 
income  which,  by  the  way,  already  begins  to  seem 
small  to  you." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  lack  of  confidence  in  her,"  protested 
Howard.  "  It  was  lack  of  confidence  in  myself." 

"  True,  that  did  have  something  to  do  with  it,  I 
grant  you.  And  that  reminds  me — what  has  become 
of  all  your  cowardice  about  responsibility?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  changed  there." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  Are  you  not  deceived  by  this 
sudden  and  maybe  momentary  streak  of  good  luck  in 
your  affairs?  You  have  fixed  your  ambition  high — 
very  high.  You  wish  to  make  an  honest  and  a 
useful  and  a  distinguished  career.  You  know 
you  have  weaknesses.  I  needn't  remind  you — 
need  I — that  you  have  had  to  fight  those  weak 
nesses  ?  How  could  you  have  won  thus  far  if  you  had 
been  responsible  for  others  instead  of  being  alone,  and 
certain  that  the  consequences  would  fall  upon  your 
self  only?  I  want  to  see  you  continue  to  win.  I 
don't  want  to  see  you  dragged  down  by  extravagance, 
by  love  for  this  woman,  by  ambition  of  the  kind  her 


196  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

friends  approve.  I  don't  want  to  see  you — You  were 
silent  when  Stokely  insulted  you  ! " 

"  Love — such  love  as  mine — and  for  such  a  woman 
— and  with  such  love  in  return — drag  down?  Impos 
sible  ! " 

"  Not  so — not  exactly  so,  though  I  must  say  you  are 
plausible.  But  don't  forget  that  you  and  she  are  not 
starting  out  to  make  a  career.  Don't  forget  that  she 
is  already  fixed — her  tastes,  habits,  friendships, 
associations,  ideals  already  formed.  Don't  forget  that 
your  love  is  the  only  bond  between  you — and  that  it 
may  drag  you  toward  her  mode  of  life  instead  of 
drawing  her  towards  yours.  Don't  forget  that  your 
own  associations  and  temptations  are  becoming  more 
and  more  difficult.  I  repeat,  you  cringed — yes, 
cringed — when  Stokely  insulted  you.  Why  ?  " 

Howard  was  silent. 

"And,"  the  Visitor  went  on  relentlessly,  "let  me 
remind  you  that  not  only  did  you  give  her  up  without 
a  struggle  a  few  months  ago  but  also  she  gave  you  up 
without  a  word." 

"  But  what  could  she  have  said?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I'm  not  familiar  with  ways 
feminine.  But  I  know — we  know — that,  if  there  had 
not  been  some  reservation  in  her  love,  some  hesitation 
about  you — unconscious,  perhaps,  but  powerful  enough 
to  make  her  yield — she  would  not  have  let  you  go  as 
she  did." 


A  WOMAN  AND  A  WARNING.          197 

"But  she  did  not  realise,  as  I  did  not,  how  much 
our  love  meant  to  us." 

"Perhaps — that  sounds  well.  All  I  ask  is,  will  she 
help  you  ?  Are  you  really  so  much  stronger  than  you 
were  only  four  months  ago?  Or  are  you  stimulated 
by  success?  Suppose  that  days  of  disaster,  of  peril, 
come  ?  What  then  ?  " 

"  But  they  will  not.  I  have  won  a  position.  I  can 
always  command  a  large  salary — perhaps  not  quite  so 
much  but  still  a  large  salary." 

"  Perhaps — if  you  don't  trouble  yourself  about 
principles.  But  how  would  it  be  if  you  would  do 
nothing,  write  nothing,  except  what  you  think  is 
honest?  Would  you  ask  her  to  face  it?  Tell  me, 
tell  yourself  honestly,  have  you  the  right  to  assume  a 
responsibility  you  may  not  be  able  to  bear,  to  invite 
temptations  you  may  not  be  able  to  resist  ?  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  At  last  Howard  stood  up 
and  flung  his  cigar  into  the  sea.  His  face  was  drawn 
and  his  eyes  burned. 

"God  in  heaven!"  he  cried,  "am  I  not  human? 
May  I  not  have  companionship  and  sympathy  and 
love  ?  Must  I  be  alone  and  friendless  and  loveless 
always  ?  That  is  not  life  ;  that  is  not  just.  I  will  not ; 
I  will  not.  I  love  her — love  her — love  her.  With  the 
best  that  there  is  in  me,  I  love  her.  Am  I  such  a 
coward  that  I  cannot  face  even  my  own  weaknesses  ?  " 


XVIII. 

HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE. 

IN  August  Marian  and  Mrs.  Carnarvon  came  to  the 
Waldorf  for  two  days.  Howard  had  offered  to  show 
them  how  a  newspaper  is  made ;  and  Mrs.  Car 
narvon,  finding  herself  bored  by  too  many  days  of 
the  same  few  people  every  day,  herself  proposed  the 
trip.  The  three  dined  in  the  open  air  on  Sherry's 
piazza  and  at  eleven  o'clock  drove  down  the  Avenue, 
to  the  east  at  Washington  Square,  and  through  the 
Bowery. 

"I  never  saw  it  before,"  said  Marian,  "  and  I  must 
say  I  shall  not  care  if  I  never  see  it  again.  Why  do 
people  make  so  much  fuss  about  slums,  I  wonder?" 

"  Oh,  they're  so  queer,  so  like  another  world,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Carnarvon.  "  It  gives  you  such  a  delight 
ful  sensation  of  sadness.  It's  just  like  a  not-too-melan 
choly  play,  only  better  because  it's  real.  Then,  too, 
it  makes  one  feel  so  much  more  comfortable  and  clean 
and  contented  in  one's  own  surroundings." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Jessie." 
Marian  spoke  in  mock  indignation.  "The  next  tirng 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  199 

we  know  you'll  sink  to  being  a  patron  of  the  poor  and 
go  about  enjoying  yourself  at  making  them  self-con 
scious  and  envious." 

"  They're  not  at  all  sad  down  this  way,"  said 
Howard,  "  except  in  the  usual  inescapable  human 
ways.  When  they're  not  hit  too  hard,  they  bear  up 
wonderfully.  You  see,  living  on  the  verge  of  ruin  and 
tumbling  over  every  few  weeks  get  one  used  to  it. 
It  ceases  to  give  the  sensation  of  event." 

Their  automobile  had  turned  into  Park  Row  and  so 
reached  the  News-Record  building  in  Printing  House 
Square.  Howard  took  the  two  women  to  the  elevator 
and  they  shot  upward  in  a  car  crowded  with  telegraph 
messengers,  each  carrying  one  or  more  envelopes,  some 
of  them  bearing  in  bold  black  type  the  words : 
"  News!— Rush!" 

"I  suppose  that  is  the  news  for  the  paper ?"  Mrs. 
Carnarvon  asked. 

"A  little  of  it.  Our  special  cable  and  special  news 
from  towns  to  which  we  have  no  direct  wire  and  also 
the  Associated  Press  reports  come  this  way.  But  we 
don't  use  much  Associated  Press  matter,  as  it  is  the 
same  for  all  the  papers." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Throw  it  away.  A  New  York  newspaper  throws 
away  every  night  enough  to  fill  two  papers  and  often 
enough  to  fill  five  or  six." 


200  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Isn't  that  very  wasteful  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it's  necessary.  Every  editor  has  his  own 
idea  of  what  to  print  and  what  not  to  print  and  how 
much  space  each  news  event  calls  for.  It  is  there 
that  editors  show  their  judgment  or  lack  of  it.  To 
print  the  things  the  people  wish  to  read  in  the 
quantities  the  people  like  and  in  the  form  the  most 
people  can  most  easily  understand — that  is  success  as 
an  editor." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Marian,  thinking  of  the  low  view 
all  her  friends  took  of  Howard's  newspaper,  "  if  you 
were  making  a  newspaper  to  please  yourself,  you 
would  make  a  very  different  one." 

"  Oh,  no,"  laughed  Howard,  "  I  print  what  I  my 
self  like  ;  that  is,  what  I  like  to  find  in  a  newspaper. 
We  print  human  news  made  by  human  beings  and  in 
teresting  to  human  beings.  And  we  don't  pretend  to 
be  anything  more  than  human.  We  try  never  to 
think  of  our  own  idea  of  what  the  people  ought  to  read, 
but  always  to  get  at  what  the  people  themselves  think 
they  ought  to  read.  We  are  journalists,  not  news- 
censors." 

"I  must  say  newspapers  do  not  interest  me." 
Marian  confessed  it  a  little  diffidently. 

"You  are  probably  not  interested,"  Howard 
answered,  "because  you  don't  care  for  news.  It  is  a 
queer  passion — the  passion  for  news.  The  public  has 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  201 

it  in  a  way.  But  to  see  it  in  its  delirium  you  must 
come  here." 

"  This  seems  quiet  enough."  Marian  looked  about 
Howard's  upstairs  office.  It  was  silent,  and  from  the 
windows  one  could  see  New  York  and  its  rivers  and 
harbour,  vast,  vague,  mysterious,  animated  yet  quiet. 

"  Oh,  I  rarely  come  here — a  few  hours  a  week," 
Howard  replied.  "  On  this  floor  the  editorial  writers 
work."  He  opened  a  door  leading  to  a  private  hall. 
There  were  five  small  rooms.  In  each  sat  a  coatless 
man,  smoking  and  writing.  One  was  Segur,  and 
Howard  called  to  him. 

"  Are  you  too  busy  to  look  after  Mrs.  Carnarvon 
and  Miss  Trevor  for  a  few  minutes  ?  I  must  go  down 
stairs." 

Segur  gave  some  "  copy  "  to  a  boy  who  handed  him 
a  bundle  of  proofs  and  rushed  away  down  a  narrow 
staircase.  Howard  descended  in  the  elevator,  and 
Segur,  who  had  put  on  his  coat,  sat  talking  to  the  two 
women  as  he  looked  through  the  proofs,  glancing  at 
each  narrow  strip,  then  letting  it  drop  to  the  floor. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  working  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
have  to  look  at  these  things  to  see  if  there  is  any  news 
that  calls  for  editional  attention.  If  I  find  anything 
and  can  think  an  editorial  thought  about  it,  I  write  it  ; 
and  if  Howard  is  in  the  humour,  perhaps  the  public  is 
permitted  to  read  it." 


202  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Is  he  severe?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carnarvon. 

"  The  '  worst  ever,'  "  laughed  Segur.  "  He  is  very 
positive  and  likes  only  a  certain  style  and  won't  have 
anything  that  doesn't  exactly  fit  his  ideas.  He's  easy 
to  get  along  with  but  difficult  to  work  for." 

"  I  imagine  his  positiveness  is  the  secret  of  his 
success."  Marian  knew  that  Segur  was  half  in  jest 
and  was  fond  of  Howard.  But  she  couldn't  endure 
hearing  him  criticised. 

"  No.  I  think  he  succeeds  because  he  works, 
pushes  straight  on,  never  stops  to  repair  blunders  but 
never  makes  the  same  kind  of  a  blunder  the  second 
time." 

Segur' s  eye  caught  an  item  that  suggested  an 
editorial  paragraph.  He  sat  at  Howard's  desk,  thought 
a  moment,  scrawled  half  a  dozen  lines  in  a  large 
ragged  hand  on  a  sheet  of  ruled  yellow  paper,  and 
pressed  an  electric  button.  The  boy  came,  handed 
him  another  thick  bundle  of  proofs,  took  the  "  copy  " 
and  withdrew.  Just  then  Howard  returned. 

"  We'll  go  down  to  the  news-room,"  he  said. 

The  windows  of  the  great  news-room  were  thrown 
wide.  Scores  of  electric  lights  made  it  bright.  At 
the  various  desks  or  in  the  aisles  were  perhaps  fifty 
men,  most  of  them  young,  none  of  them  beyond 
middle  age.  They  were  in  every  kind  of  clothing 
from  the  most  fashionable  summer  attire  to  an  old 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  203 

pair  of  cheap  and  stained  duck  trousers,  collarless 
negligee  shirt  open  all  the  way  down  the  front  and 
suspenders  hanging  about  the  hips. 

Some  were  writing  long-hand  ;  others  were  pound 
ing  away  at  the  typewriter ;  others  were  talking  in 
undertones  to  "  typists  "  taking  dictation  to  the 
machine  ;  others  were  reading  "  copy  "  and  altering  it 
with  huge  blue  pencils  which  made  apparently  unread 
able  smears  wherever  they  touched  the  paper.  In  and 
out  skurried  a  dozen  office-boys,  responding  to  calls 
from  various  desks,  bringing  bundles  of  proofs,  thrust 
ing  copy  into  boxes  which  instantly  and  noisily  shot 
up  through  the  ceiling. 

It  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and  furious  activity. 
The  face  of  each  individual  was  calm  and  his  motions 
by  themselves  were  not  excited.  But  taking  all 
together  and  adding  the  tense,  strained  expression 
underneath  the  calm — the  expression  of  the  profes 
sional  gambler — there  was  a  total  of  active  energy 
that  was  oppressive. 

"  We  had  a  fire  below  us  one  night,"  said  Howard. 
11  We  are  two  hundred  feet  from  the  street  and  there 
were  no  fire  escapes.  We  all  thought  it  was  good-bye. 
It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  before  we  found  out  that 
the  smoke  booming  up  the  stairways  and  into  this 
room  had  no  danger  behind  it." 


204  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Gracious !  "  Mrs.  Carnarvon  shuddered  and  looked 
uneasily  about. 

"  It's  perfectly  safe,"  Howard  reassured  her. 
"  We've  arranged  things  better  since  then.  Besides, 
that  fire  demonstrated  that  the  building  was  fireproof." 

"  And  what  happened  ?  "  asked  Miss  Trevor. 

"  Why,  just  what  you  see  now.  The  Managing 
Editor,  Mr.  King  over  there — I'll  introduce  him  to 
you  presently — went  up  to  a  group  of  men  standing  at 
one  of  the  windows.  They  were  pretending  indifference 
as  they  looked  down  at  the  crowd  which  was  shouting 
and  tossing  its  arms  in  away  that  more  than  suggested 
pity  for  us  poor  devils  up  here.  Well,  King  said  : 
*  Boys,  boys,  this  isn't  getting  out  a  paper.'  Every 
one  went  back  to  his  work  and — and  that  was  all." 

They  went  on  to  the  room  behind  the  news 
room.  As  Howard  opened  its  heavy  door  a  sound, 
almost  a  roar,  of  clicking  instruments  and  typewriters 
burst  out.  Here  again  were  scores  of  desks  with  men 
seated  at  them,  every  man  with  a  typewriter  and  a 
telegraph  instrument  before  him. 

"  These  are  our  direct  wires,"  Howard  explained. 
"  Our  correspondents  in  all  the  big  cities,  east,  west, 
north  and  south  and  in  London,  are  at  the  other  end 
of  these  wires.  Let  me  show  you." 

Howard  spoke  to  the  operator  nearest  them. 
"  Whom  have  you  got  ?  " 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  205 

"  I'm  taking  three  thousand  words  from  Kansas 
City,"  he  replied.  "  Washington  is  on  the  next  wire." 

"  Ask  Mr.  Simpson  how  the  President  is  to-night," 
Howard  said  to  the  Washington  operator.  s 

His  instrument  clicked  a  few  times  and  was  silent. 
Almost  immediately  the  receiver  began  to  click  and, 
as  the  operator  dashed  the  message  off  on  his  type 
writer  the  two  women  read  over  his  shoulder:  "  Just 
came  from  White  House.  He  is  no  better,  probably 
a  little  worse  because  weaker.  Simpson." 

"And  can  you  hear  just  as  quickly  from  London  ?  " 
Marian  asked. 

"  Almost.  I'll  try.  There  is  always  a  little  delay 
in  transmission  from  the  land  systems  to  the  cable, 
system  ;  and  messages  have  to  be  telephoned  between 
our  office  in  Trafalgar  Square  and  the  cable  office 
down  in  the  city.  Let's  see,  it's  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  in  London  now.  They've  been  having  it  hot 
there.  I'll  ask  about  the  weather." 

Howard  dictated  to  the  man  at  the  London  wire : 
"  Roberts,  London.  How  is  the  weather  ?  Howard." 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  cable-man  handed 
Howard  a  typewritten  slip  reading :  "  News-Record, 
New  York,  Howard  :  Thermometer  97  our  office  now. 
Promises  hottest  day  yet.  Roberts." 

"  I  never  before  realised  how  we  have  destroyed 
distance, "said  Mrs.  Carnarvon. 


206  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  but  a  newspaper  editor  com- 
pletely  realises  it,"  Howard  answered.  "  As  one  sits 
here  night  after  night,  sending  messages  far  and  wide 
and  receiving  immediate  answers,  he  loses  all  sense  of 
space.  The  whole  world  seems  to  be  in  his  ante 
room." 

"  I  begin  to  see  fascination  in  this  life  of  yours." 
Marian's  face  showed  interest  to  enthusiasm.  "  This 
atmosphere  tightens  one's  nerves.  It  seems  to  me 
that  in  the  next  moment  I  shall  hear  of  some  thrilling 
happening." 

"  It's  listening  for  the  first  rumour  of  the  '  about-to, 
happen  *  that  makes  newspaper-men  so  old  and  yet  so 
young,  so  worn  and  yet  so  eager.  Every  night,  every 
moment  of  every  night,  we  are  expecting  it,  hoping 
for  some  astounding  news  which  it  will  test  our  re 
sources  to  the  utmost  to  present  adequately." 

From  the  news-room  they  went  up  to  the  compos 
ing  room — a  vast  hall  of  confusion,  filled  with  strange- 
looking  machines  and  half-dressed  men  and  boys.  Some 
were  hurrying  about  with  galleys  of  type,  with  large 
metal  frames;  some  were  wheeling  tables  here  and 
there ;  scores  of  men  and  a  few  women  were  seated  at 
the  machines.  These-  responded  to  touches  upon 
their  key-boards  by  going  through  uncanny  internal 
agitations.  Then  out  from  a  mysterious  somewhere 
would  cornea  small  thin  strip  of  almost  hot  metal,  the 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  207 

width  of  a  newspaper  column  and  marked  along  one 
edge  with  letters  printed  backwards. 

Up  through  the  floor  of  this  room  burst  boxes  filled 
with  ''copy."  Boys  snatched  the  scrawled,  ragged- 
looking  sheets  and  tossed  them  upon  a  desk.  A  man 
seated  there  cut  them  into  little  strips,  hanging  each 
strip  upon  a  hook.  A  line  of  men  filed  rapidly  past 
these  hooks,  snatching  each  man  a  single  strip  and 
darting  away  to  a  machine. 

"  It  is  getting  late,"  said  Howard.  "The  final  rush 
for  the  first  edition  is  on.  They  are  setting  the  last 
•copy."' 

"But,"  Mrs.  Carnarvon  asked,  "how  do  they  ever 
get  the  different  parts  of  the  different  news-items  to 
gether  straight  ?  " 

"The  man  who  is  cutting  copy  there — don't  you  see 
him  make  little  marks  on  each  piece  ?  Those  marks 
tell  them  just  where  their  'take/  as  they  call  it, 
belongs." 

They  went  over  to  the  part  of  the  great  room  where 
there  were  many  tables,  on  each  a  metal  frame  about 
the  size  of  a  page  of  the  newspaper.  Some  of  the 
frames  were  filled  with  type,  others  were  partly  empty. 
And  men  were  lifting  into  them  the  galleys  of  type 
under  the  direction  of  the  Night  Editor  and  his  staff. 
As  soon  as  a  frame  was  filled  two  men  began  to  even 
the  ends  of  the  columns  and  then  to  screw  up  an  in- 


2o8  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

side  framework  which  held  the  type  firmly  in  place. 
Then  a  man  laid  a  great  sheet  of  what  looked  like 
blotting-paper  upon  the  page  of  type  and  pounded  it 
down  with  a  mallet  and  scraped  it  with  a  stiff  brush. 

"That  is  the  matrix,"  said  Howard.  "See  him 
putting  it  on  the  elevator."  They  looked  down  the 
shaft.  "  It  has  dropped  to  the  sub-basement,"  said 
Howard,  "  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  below  us.  They 
are  already  bending  it  into  a  casting-box  of  the  shape 
of  the  cylinders  on  the  presses ;  metal  will  be  poured 
in  and  when  it  is  cool,  you  will  have  the  metal  form, 
the  metal  impression  of  the  page.  It  will  be  fastened 
upon  the  press  to  print  from." 

They  walked  back  through  the  room  which  was 
now  in  almost  lunatic  confusion — forms  being  locked  ; 
galleys  being  lifted  in  ;  editors,  compositors,  boys, 
rushing  to  and  fro  in  a  fury  of  activity.  Again  the 
phenomenon  of  the  news-room,  the  individual  faces 
calm  but  their  tense  expressions  and  their  swift  mo 
tions  making  an  impression  of  almost  irrational  ex 
citement. 

"  Why  such  haste  ?  "  asked  Marian. 

"  Because  the  paper  must  be  put  to  press.  It  must 
contain  the  very  latest  news  and  it  must  also  catch 
the  mails;  and  the  mail-trains  do  not  wait." 

They  descended  in  the  main  elevator  to  the  ground 
floor  and  then  went  down  a  dark  and  winding  stair- 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  209 

case  until  they  faced  an  iron  door.  Howard  pushed 
it  open  and  they  entered  the  press-room.  Its  temper 
ature  was  blood-heat,  its  air  heavy  and  nauseating 
with  the  odours  of  ink,  moist  paper  and  oil,  its  lights 
dim.  They  were  in  a  gallery  and  below  them  on  all 
sides  were  the  huge  presses,  silent,  motionless,  waiting. 

Suddenly  a  small  army  of  men  leaped  upon  the 
mighty  machines,  scrambled  over  them,  then  sprang 
back.  With  a  tremendous  roar  that  shook  the  entire 
building  the  presses  began  to  revolve,  to  hurl  out 
great  heaps  of  newspapers. 

"Those  presses  eat  six  hundred  thousand  pounds  of 
paper  and  four  tons  of  ink  a  week,"  Howard  shouted. 
"They  can  throw  out  two  hundred  thousand  complete 
papers  an  hour — papers  that  are  cut,  folded,  pasted, 
and  ready  to  send  away.  Let  us  go  before  you  are 
stifled.  This  air  is  horrible." 

They  returned  in  the  elevator  to  his  lofty  office. 
Even  there  a  slight  vibration  from  the  press-room 
could  be  felt.  But  it  was  calm  and  still,  a  fit  place 
from  which  to  view  the  panorama  of  sleeping  city  and 
drowsy  harbour  tranquil  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Look."  Howard  was  leaning  over  the  railing  just 
outside  his  window. 

They  looked  straight  down  three  hundred  feet  to 
the  street  made  bright  by  electric  lights.  Scores  of 
wagons  loaded  with  newspapers  were  rushing  away 


210  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

from  the  several  newspaper  buildings.  The  shouts 
the  clash  of  hoofs  and  heavy  tires  on  the  granite 
blocks,  the  whirr  of  automobiles,  were  borne  faintly 
upward. 

"  It  is  the  race  to  the  railway  stations  to  catch  the 
mail-trains,"  Howard  explained.  "  The  first  editions 
go  to  the  country.  These  wagons  are  hurrying  in 
order  that  tens  of  thousands  of  people  hundreds  of 
miles  away,  at  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Washington  and 
scores  on  scores  of  towns  between  and  beyond,  may 
find  the  New  York  newspapers  on  their  breakfast- 
tables." 

The  office-boy  came  with  a  bundle  of  papers,  warm, 
moist,  the  ink  brilliant. 

"  And  now  for  the  inquest,"  said  Howard 

"  The  inquest  ?  "  Marian  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Yes — viewing  the  corpse.  It  was  to  give  birth  to 
this  that  there  was  all  that  intensity  and  fury — that 
and  a  thousand  times  more.  For,  remember,  this  paper 
is  the  work  of  perhaps  twenty  thousand  brains,  in 
every  part  of  the  world,  throughout  civilisation  and 
far  into  the  depths  of  barbarism.  Look  at  these  date 
lines — cities  and  towns  everywhere  in  our  own  country, 
Canada,  Mexico,  Central  America,  South  America. 
You'll  find  most  of  the  capitals  of  Europe  represented  ; 
and  Africa,  north,  south  and  central,  east  and  west 
coast,  Here's  India  and  here  the  heart  of  Siberia, 


HOWARD  EXPLAINS  HIS  MACHINE.  211 

There  is  China  and  there  Japan  and  there  Australia. 
Think  of  these  scores  of  newspaper  correspondents 
telegraphing  news  of  the  doings  of  their  fellow  beings 
— not  what  they  did  last  month  or  last  year,  but  what 
they  did  a  few  hours  ago — some  of  it  what  they  were 
doing  while  we  were  dining  up  at  Sherry's.  Then  think 
of  the  thousands  on. thousands  of  these  newspaper-men, 
eager,  watchful  agents  of  publicity,  who  were  on 
duty  but  had  nothing  to  report  to-day.  And " 

Howard  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  tossed  the 
paper  from  him. 

"  There  it  lies,"  he  said,  "  a  corpse.  Already  a 
corpse,  its  life  ended  before  it  was  fairly  born.  There 
it  is,  dead  and  done  for — writ  in  water,  and  by 
anonymous  hands.  Who  knows  who  did  it?  Who 
cares?" 

He  caught  Marian's  eyes,  looking  wonder  and  re 
proach. 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  said,  for 
getting  Mrs.  Carnarvon.  "  Other  men — yes,  the  little 
men  who  work  for  the  cheap  rewards.  But  not  you, 
who  work  for  the  sake  of  work.  This  night's  ex 
perience  has  thrilled  me.  I  understand  your  profession 
now.  I  see  what  it  means  to  us  all,  to  civilisation, 
what  a  splendid  force  for  good,  for  enlightenment,  for 
uplifting  it  is.  I  can  see  a  great  flood  of  light  radiat 
ing  from  this  building,  pouring  into  the  dark  places, 


212  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS, 

driving  away  ignorance.  And  the  thunder  of  those 
presses  seems  to  me  to  fill  the  world  with  some  mighty 
command — what  is  it? — oh,  yes — I  can  hear  it  dis 
tinctly.  It  is,  *  Let  there  be  light ! ' " 

Mrs.  Carnarvon's  back  was  toward  them  and  she 
was  looking  out  at  the  harbour.  Howard  put  his  hands 
upon  Marian's  shoulders  and  they  looked  each  the 
other  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"  Lovers  and  comrades,"  he  said,  "  always.  And 
how  strong  we  are — together !  " 


XIX. 

"  I  MUST  BE  RICH." 

"  WHILE  I  don't  feel  dependent  upon  the  owners  of 
the  News-Record,  still  I  am  not  exactly  independent  of 
them  either.  And  if  I  left  them  it  would  only  be  to 
become  dependent  in  the  same  way  upon  somebody 
else.  A  man  who  makes  his  living  by  the  advocacy 
of  principles  should  be  wholly  free.  If  he  isn't,  the 
principles  are  sure  sooner  or  later  to  become  incidental 
to  the  living,  instead  of  the  living  being  incidental  to 
the  principles." 

"  But  you  see — perhaps  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
before — that  is,  there  may  be  " — Marian  was  stam 
mering  and  blushing. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Don't  frighten  me  by  looking 
so — so  criminal,"  Howard  laughed. 

It  was  late  in  August.  Marian  \vas  visiting  Mrs. 
Brandon  at  Irvington-on-the-Hudson  and  she  and 
Howard  were  driving. 

"  I  never  told  you.  But  the  fact  is  " — she  hesitated 
again. 

"  Is  it  about  your  other  engagement  ?  You  never  told 
me  about  that — -how  you  broke  it  off.  I  don't  want 


2i4  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

you  to  tell  me  unless  you  wish  to.  You  know  I 
never  meddle  in  past  matters.  I'm  simply  trying  to 
help  you  out." 

"  Instead,  you're  making  it  worse.  I'd  rather  not 
tell  you  that  if " 

"  We'll  never  speak  of  it  again.  And  now,  what  is  it 
that  is  troubling  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  tell  you — I  wish  you  wouldn't 
look  at  me — I've  got  a  small  income — it's  really  very 
small." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  like  it.  It  isn't  very 
big — only  about  eight  thousand  a  year — some  years 
not  so  much.  But  then,  if  anything  happened — we 
could  be — we  could  live." 

Howard  smiled  as  he  looked  at  her — but  not  with 
his  eyes. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said.  "  It  makes  me  feel  safer  in 
several  ways.  And  I'm  especially  glad  that  it  is  not 
larger  than  mine.  I  know  it's  stupid,  as  so  many  of 
our  instincts  are  ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  marry  a 
woman  who  had  a  larger  income  than  I  could  earn. 
I  think  it  is  the  only  remnant  I  have  of  the  '  lord  and 
master '  idea  that  makes  so  many  men  ridiculous. 
But  we  need  not  let  that  bother  us.  Fate  has  made 
us  about  equal  in  this  respect,  so  unimportant  yet  so 
important ;  and  we  are  each  independent  of  the  other. 


"I  MUST  BE  RICH."  215 

Each  will  always  know  that  love  is  the  only  bond 
that  holds  us  together." 

They  decided  that  they  would  live  at  the  rate  of 
about  fifteen  thousand  a  year  and  would  put  by  the 
rest  of  their  income.  She  was  to  undertake  the  entire 
management  of  their  home,  he  transferring  his  share 
by  check  each  month. 

"  And  so,"  she  said,  "  we  shall  never  have  to  discuss 
money  matters." 

"  We  couldn't,"  laughed  Howard.  "  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them  and  could  not  take  part  in  a  dis 
cussion." 

As  they  were  to  be  married  in  November,  they 
planned  to  take  an  apartment  when  Marian  came  back 
•to  town — in  late  September.  She  was  to  attend  to 
the  furnishing  and  all  was  to  be  in  readiness  by  the 
time  they  were  married.  Howard  was  to  get  a  six 
weeks'  vacation  and,  as  soon  as  they  returned,  they 
were  to  go  to  housekeeping. 

Her  visit  to  the  News-Record  office  had  made  a 
change  in  her.  Until  she  met  Howard,  she  had  known 
only  the  world-that-idles  and  the  world-that-drudges. 
Howard  brought  her  the  first  real  news  of  the  world- 
that-works.  Of  course  she  knew  that  there  was  such  a 
world,  but  she  had  confused  it  with  the  world-that- 
drudges.  She  liked  to  hear  Howard  talk  about  his 
world,  but  she  thought  that  his  enthusiasm  blinded  him 


2i6  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

to  the  truth  of  its  drudgery ;  and  she  often  caught  her. 
self  half  regretting  that  he  had  to  work. 

But  that  vast  machine  for  the  swift  collecting  and 
distributing  of  the  news  of  the  world  had  opened  her 
eyes,  had  made  her  see  her  lover  and,  through  him, 
his  life,  in  a  different  aspect.  She  had  accepted  the 
supercilious,  thoughtless  opinion  of  those  about  her 
that  the  newspaper  is  a  mere  purveyor  of  inaccurate 
gossip.  And  while  Howard  had  tried  to  show  her  his 
profession  as  it  was,  he  had  only  succeeded  in  con 
vincing  her  that  he  himself  had  an  exalted  view  of  it ;  a 
view  which  she  thought  creditable  to  him  but  wide  of 
the  disagreeable  truth. 

On  that  trip  down-town  she  had  seen  "  the  press  " 
with  the  flaws  reduced  and  the  merits  looming.  She 
had  looked  into  those  all-seeing  eyes  that  watch  the 
councils  of  statesmen  and  the  movements  of  nations 
and  peoples,  yet  also  note  the  swing  of  a  murderous 
knife  in  an  alley  of  the  slums.  She  had  heard  that 
stentorian  voice  of  Publicity,  arousing  the  people  of 
the  earth  to  apprehend,  to  reflect,  to  progress. 

She  had  been  proud  of  Howard  for  his  appearance, 
for  what  he  said  and  the  way  he  said  it.  Now  she 
was  proud  of  him  for  the  part  he  was  taking  in  this 
wonderful  world-that-works.  And  she  would  not  have 
confessed  to  him  how  insignificant  she  felt,  how  weak 
and  worthless. 


"I  MUST  BE  RICH."  217 

She  thought  she  was  impatient  for  the  time  to  come 
when  she  could  learn  how  to  help  him  in  his  work, 
could  begin  to  feel  that  she  too  had  a  real  share  in  it. 
With  what  seemed  to  her  most  creditable  energy  and 
self-sacrifice  she  tried  again  to  interest  herself  in  news 
papers.  But  the  trivial  parts  bored  her  ;  the  chroni 
cles  of  crime  repelled  her;  and  the  politics  and  most 
of  the  other  serious  articles  were  beyond  the  range  of 
her  knowledge  or  of  her  interest.  "  I  shall  wait  until 
we  are  married,"  she  said,  "  then  he  will  teach  me." 
And  she  did  not  suspect  how  significant,  how  ominous 
her  postponement  was. 

She  asked  him  if  he  would  not  teach  her  and  he  re 
plied  :  "Why,  certainly,  if  you  are  interested.  But  I 
don't  intend  to  trouble  you  with  the  details  of  my  pro 
fession.  I  want  you  to  lead  your  own  life — to  do  what 
interests  you." 

She  did  not  stop  to  analyse  her  feeling  of  relief  at 
this  release,  and  went  on  to  protest :  "  But  I  want  your 
life  to  be  my  life.  I  want  there  to  be  only  one  life — 
our  life." 

"  And  there  shall  be— each  contributing  his  share, 
at  least  I'll  try  to  contribute  mine.  But  you  have 
your  own  individuality,  dear  ;  and  a  very  strong  one 
it  is.  And  I  don't  want  you  to  change." 

At  the  time  he  was  deep  in  his  plans  for  illustrating 
the  News-Record.  Early  in  that  fall's  campaign  they 


218  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

had  secured  the  best  cartoonist  in  America.  Cartoons 
are  rarely  the  work  of  one  man  but  are  got  up  by 
consultations.  Howard  spent  never  less  than  an  hour 
each  day  with  the  cartoonist,  Wickham,  wrestling 
with  the  problem  of  the  next  day's  picture.  For  he 
insisted  upon  having  a  striking  cartoon  each  day,  and 
gave  it  the  most  conspicuous  place  in  the  paper — the 
top-centre  of  the  first  page. 

"  If  a  cartoon  is  worth  printing  at  all,"  he  said,  "  it 
is  worth  printing  large  and  conspicuous.  And  to  be 
worth  printing  it  must  be  like  an  ideal  editorial — one 
point  sharply  and  swiftly  made  and  so  clear  that  the 
most  careless  glance-of-the-eye  is  enough." 

Wickham  had  made  a  series  of  cartoons  on  the  cam 
paign,  humorous  and  satirical,  which  had  the  distinc 
tion  of  being  reproduced  on  lantern  slides  for  use  in  all 
parts  of  the  town.  It  was  an  admirable  beginning  of 
the  new  policy  of  illustration.  Howard  had  been  mak 
ing  a  careful  study  of  all  the  illustrators  in  the  country, 
not  overlooking  those  toiling  in  obscurity  on  the  big 
western  dailies.  He  had  selected  a  staff  of  twenty  ;  as 
soon  as  Coulter  and  Stokely  assented,  he  engaged  them 
by  telegraph.  Five  were  developed  artists,  the  rest 
beginners  with  talent.  He  gave  all  of  his  attention  for 
two  weeks  to  organising  this  staff.  He  infected  it  with 
his  enthusiasm.  He  impressed  upon  it  his  ideas  of  news 
paper  illustration — the  dash  and  energy  of  the  French 


"I  MUST  BE  RICH."  219 

illustrators  adapted  to  American  public  taste.  He  in 
sisted  upon  the  artists  studying  the  French  illustrated 
papers  and  applying  what  they  learned.  It  was  not 
until  the  first  Sunday  in  December  that  he  felt  ready 
to  submit  the  results  of  these  labours  to  the  public. 

Again  he  scored  over  the  "contemporaries  "  of  the 
News-Record.  They  printed  many  more  illustrations 
than  it  did.  It  had  only  one  illustration  on  a  page, 
but  there  was  one  on  every  page  and  a  good  one. 
All  the  subjects  were  well  chosen — either  action  or 
character — and  as  many  good  looking  women  as  pos 
sible. 

"  Never  publish  a  commonplace  face,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  no  such  thing  in  life  as  an  uninteresting 
face.  Always  find  the  element  of  interest  and  bring 
it  out." 

The  result  of  this  policy,  interpreted  by  a  carefully 
trained  and  enthusiastic  staff,  was  what  the  out-of- 
town  press  was  soon  praising  as  "  a  revelation  in 
newspaper-illustration."  Howard  himself  was  sur 
prised.  He  had  mentally  insured  against  a  long 
period  of  disappointment. 

"This  shows,"  he  remarked  to  King  and  Vroom, 
"how  much  more  competent  men  are  than  we  usually 
think — if  they  get  a  chance,  if  they  are  pointed  in  the 
right  direction  and  are  left  free." 

"  He  certainly    knows   his  business."     Vroom  was 


220  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

looking  after  Howard  admiringly.  "  I  never  saw  any. 
body  who  so  well  understood  when  to  lead  and  when 
to  let  alone.  What  results  he  does  get !  " 

"  A  pity  to  waste  such  talents  on  this  thankless 
business,"  said  King.  "  If  he'd  gone  into  real  busi 
ness,  he  would  have  a  salary  of  a  hundred  thousand  a 
yeai;  would  be  rich  and  secure  for  life.  Why,  a  busi 
ness  man  could  and  would  make  a  whole  career  on 
the  ideas  he  has  in  a  single  week.  As  it  is " 

King  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  Vroom  finished 
the  sentence  for  him  :  "  Coulter  and  Stokely  could 
kick  him  out  to-morrow  and  the  News-Record  would  go 
straight  on  living  upon  his  ideas  for  ten  years  at  least." 

Howard  needed  no  one  to  make  this  truth  clear  to 
him  to  the  full.  Often,  as  he  thought  of  his  expanding 
tastes,  his  expanding  expenditures  and  his  expanding 
plans  both  for  his  private  life  and  for  his  career,  he 
felt  an  awful  sinking  at  the  heart  and  a  sense  of 
fundamental  weakness. 

"  I  am  building  upon  sand/'  he  said  to  himself. 
"In  business,  in  the  law,  in  almost  any  other  career 
to-day's  work  would  be  to-morrow's  capital.  As  it  is, 
I  am  ever  more  and  more  a  slave.  To  be  free  I  ought 
to  be  poor  or  rich.  And  I  cannot  endure  the  thought 
of  poverty  again.  I  must  be  rich." 

The  idea  allured  him  to  a  degree  that  made  him 
ashamed  of  himself.  Sometimes,  when  he  was  talking 


"  I  MUST  BE  RICH."  221 

to  Marian  or  writing  editorials,  all  in  the  strain  of 
high  principle  and  contempt  for  sordidness,  he  would 
flush  at  the  thought  that  he  was  in  reality  a  good  deal 
of  a  hypocrite.  "  I'm  expressing  the  ideals  I  ought  to 
have,  the  ideals  I  used  to  have,  not  the  ideals  I  have." 

But  the  clearer  this  discrepancy  became  to  him  and 
the  wider  the  gap  between  what  he  ought  to  think 
and  what  he  really  did  think,  the  more  strenuously  he 
protested  to  himself  against  himself,  and  the  more 
fiercely  he  denounced  in  public  the  very  poison  he 
was  himself  taking. 

"  I  am  living  in  a  tainted  atmosphere,"  he  said  to 
Marian.  "  We  all  are.  I  fight  against  the  taint  but 
how  can  I  hope  to  avoid  the  consequences  if  I  persist 
in  breathing  it,  in  absorbing  it  at  every  pore  of  my 
body?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you."  Marian  was  used  to 
his  moods  of  self-criticism  and  did  not  attach  much 
importance  to  them. 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said. 
"  What's  the  use  of  discussing  what  can't  be  helped  ?  " 
How  could  he  tell  her  that  the  greatest  factor  in  his 
enervating  environment  was  herself ;  that  the  strongest 
chains  which  held  him  in  it  were  the  chains  which 
bound  him  to  her?  Indeed,  was  he  not  indulging  in 
cowardly  self-excuse  in  thinking  that  this  was  true? 
Had  not  his  success,  rather  than  his  love,  made  ambi 
tion  unfettered  by  principle  the  mainspring  of  his  life? 


XX. 

ILLUSION. 

"  How  shall  we  be  married  ?  "  Howard  asked  her  in 
the  late  Autumn. 

"  I  know  it  will  not  be  in  a  church  with  ushers  and 
bridesmaids  and  a  crowd  gaping  at  us.  I  suppose 
there  is  a  public  side  to  marriage  since  the  state 
makes  one  enter  into  a  formal  contract.  But  that  can 
be  done  privately.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  driving 
down  the  Avenue  with  my  arms  about  your  neck  as 
of  a  public  wedding." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  laughed.  "  I  was  afraid — well, 
women  are  usually  so  fond  of — but  you're  not  usual. 
Let  us  see.  The  minister  is  absolutely  necessary,  I 
suppose.  Would  one  feel  married  if  there  were  not  a 
minister?" 

"  I  don't  know— I  feel " 

She  hesitated  and  blushed  but  looked  straight  at 
him  with  that  expression  in  her  eyes  which  always 
made  him  think  of  their  love  as  their  religion. 

"  Feel — go  on.  I  want  to  hear  that  very,  very 
much." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  just  as  much  married  to  you 
now  as  I  ever  could  be." 


ILLUSION.  223 

"  And  that  is  how  I  have  felt  ever  since  the  day, 
when  I  hardly  knew  you,  when  you  suddenly  came  into 
my  life — my  real,  inner  life  where  no  one  had  been  be 
fore — and  sat  down  and  at  once  made  it  look  as  if  it 
were  your  home.  And  the  place  that  had  been  lonely 
was  lonely  no  more,  and  has  not  been  since." 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  and  he  saw  that  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"What  is  it?  "he  asked. 

"  Only  that — that  I  am  so  happy.  It — it  frightens 
me.  It  seems  so  like  a  dream." 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  long,  long  dream,  isn't  it  ?  "  He 
lifted  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  then  put  it  down  in  her 
lap  again  gently  as  if  he  feared  a  sudden  movement 
might  awaken  them.  "  Perhaps  it  had  better  be  at 
Mrs.  Carnarvon's  house — some  morning  just  before 
luncheon  and  we  could  go  quietly  away  afterward." 

"Yes — and — tell  me,"  she  said,  "wouldn't  it  be 
better  for  us  not  to  go  far  away — and  not  to  stay 
long?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  most  want  to  begin — 
begin  our  life  together  just  as  it  will  be." 

"  Are  you  afraid  you  wouldn't  know  what  to  do 
with  me  if  I  were  idling  about  all  day  long  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  that.  But  I'd  rather  not  take  a  vaca 
tion  until  we  had  earned  it  together." 

"  What  a  beautiful  idea !     I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

They  postponed   the   wedding   until    Howard    had 


224  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  "art-department"  of  the  News-Record  well  es 
tablished.  It  was  on  a  bright  winter  day  in  the 
second  week  of  January  that  they  stood  up  together 
and  were  married  by  the  Mayor  whom  Howard  had 
helped  to  elect.  Only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnarvon  and 
Marian's  brother  were  there.  Then  the  six  sat  down 
to  luncheon,  and  at  three  o'clock  Howard  and  his  wife 
started  for  Lakewood. 

When  they  arrived  a  victoria  was  waiting.  As  soon 
as  they  were  seated,  Howard  said  "  Home."  The 
coachman  touched  his  hat  and  the  horses  set  out  at  a 
swift  trot.  The  sun  was  setting  and  the  dry,  still  air 
was  saturated  with  the  perfume  of  the  snow-draped 
pines.  Within  five  minutes  the  carriage  was  at  a 
pretty  little  cottage  with  wide,  glass-enclosed  porches. 
They  entered  the  hall.  In  the  rooms  on  either  side 
open  fires  were  blazing  an  ecstatic  welcome. 

"  How  do  you  like  '  home  '  ?  "  asked  Howard. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  You  remember  your  plan  of  beginning  at  once. 
Well — this  is  the  compromise.  Stokely  has  let  me 
have  his  house  here  for  a  month — we  may  keep  it  two 
if  we  like  it.  There  is  a  telephone.  The  office  isn't 
two  hours  away  by  rail.  The  newspapers  are  here 
early.  We  can  combine  work  and  play." 

The  manservant  had  left  the  room,  a  sort  of  library- 
reception  room.  Marian  was  seated  in  a  big  chair 


ILLUSION.  225 

drawn  near  the  fire.  She  had  thrown  back  her  wraps 
and  was  slowly  drawing  off  her  gloves.  Howard 
stood  at  the  side  of  the  fire,  leaning  against  the 
mantel  and  looking  down  at  her. 

"  Before  you  definitely  decide  to  stay — "  he 
paused. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  her  colour  heightening  as  she  slowly 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  "  yes — why  this  solemn  tone  ?  " 

"  If  ever — in  the  days  that  come — one  never  knows 
what  may  happen — if  ever  you  should  find  that  you 
had  changed  toward  me " 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you — don't  promise — I  never  want  you  to 
promise  me  anything — I  want  you  always — at  every 
moment — to  be  perfectly  free.  So  I  just  ask  that  you 
will  let  me  see  it.  Then  we  can  talk  about  it  frankly, 
and  we  can  decide  what  is  best  to  do." 

"  But — suppose — you  see  I  might  still  not  wish  to 
wound  you — "  she  suggested,  half  teasing,  half  in 
earnest. 

"  It  seems  to  me  now  that  it  is  impossible  that  we 
can  ever  change.  It  seems  to  me — "  he  sat  on  the 
wide  arm  of  her  chair,  and  leaned  over  until  his  head 
touched  hers,  "  that  if  you  were  to  change  it  would 
break  my  heart.  But  if  you  were  to  change  and  were 
to  hide  it  from  me,  I  should  find  it  out  some  day 


226  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  And  what " 

"  It  would  be  worse— a  broken  heart,  a  horror  of 
myself,  a — a  contempt  for  you." 

"  Whatever  comes,  I'll  be  myself  or  try  to  be.  Is 
that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"And  if  you  change?" 

"  But  I  shall  not !  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  so  positively  ?  " 

"  Because — well,  there  are  some  things  that  we  wish 
to  believe  and  half  believe,  and  some  things  that  we 
believe  that  we  believe,  and  somethings  that  viz  know. 
I  know  about  you — about  my  love  for  you." 

"  It  is  strange  in  a  way,  isn't  it  ?  "  Marian  was 
gently  drawing  her  ringers  through  his.  "  This  is  all 
so  different  from  what  I  used  to  think  love  would  be. 
I  used  to  picture  to  myself  a  man,  something  like  you 
in  appearance,  only  taller  and  fair,  who  would  be  my 
master,  who  would  make  me  do  what  he  wished.  I 
think  a  woman  always  dreams  of  a  lover  who  will  be 
strong  enough  to  be  her  ruler.  And  here " 

"  So  I  am  not  the  strong  man  that  you  look  up  to 
and  tremble  before  ?  We  shall  see." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me.  I  mean  that  instead  I  have  a 
man  who  makes  me  rule  myself.  You  make  me  feel 
strong,  not  weak,  and  proud,  not  humble.  You  make 
me  respect  myself  so." 


ILLUSION.  227 

"  The  democracy  of  love — freedom,  equality,  frater 
nity.  Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  Madame  is  served."  It  was  the  servant  holding 
back  one  of  the  portieres,  his  face  expressionless,  his 
eyes  down. 

********* 

Happiness  evades  description  or  analysis.  We  can 
only  say  that  it  reaches  its  highest  point  when  a  man 
and  a  woman,  intelligent,  appreciative,  sympathetic, 
endowed  with  youth,  health  and  freedom,  are  devot 
ing  their  energies  solely  and  determinedly  to  verifying 
each  a  preconceived  idea  of  the  other. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  by  this  time  ?  " 

Marian  asked  the  question  in  the  pause  after  a 
twenty  minutes'  canter  over  a  straightaway  stretch 
through  the  pines. 

"Of  what?"  Howard  inquired.  "  I  mean  of  what 
phase  of  it.  Of  you  ?  " 

"  Well,— yes,  of  me— after  a  week." 

"As  I  expected,  only  more  so — more  than  I  could 
have  imagined.  And  you,  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  It's  very  different  from  what  I  expected.  It  seemed 
to  me  beforehand  that  you,  even  you,  would  'get  on 
my  nerves '  just  a  little  at  times.  I  didn't  expect  you 
to  appreciate — to  feel  my  moods  and  to  avoid  doing — 
or  is  it  that  you  simply  cannot  do — anything  jarring. 
You  have  amazing  instincts  or  else — "  Marian  looked 


228  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

at  him  and  smiled  mischievously,  "  or  else  you  have 
been  well  educated.  Oh,  I  don't  mind — not  in  the 
least.  No  matter  what  the  cause,  I'm  glad — glad — 
glad  that  you  have  been  taught  how  to  treat  a 
woman.'* 

"  I  see  you  are  determined  to  destroy  me,"  Howard 
was  in  jest,  yet  in  earnest.  "I  am  not  used  to  being 
flattered.  I  have  never  had  but  one  critic,  and  I  have 
trained  him  to  be  severe  and  uncharitable.  Now  if 
you  set  me  up  on  a  high  altar  and  wave  the  censors 
and  cry  'glory,  glory,  glory,'  I'll  lose  my  head.  You 
have  a  terrible  responsibility.  I  trust  you  and  I 
believe  everything  you  say." 

"  I'll  begin  my  duties  as  critic  as  soon  as  we  go  back 
to — to  earth.  But  at  present  I'm  going  to  be  selfish. 
You  see  it  makes  me  happier  to  blind  myself  to  your 
faults." 

They  rode  in  silence  for  a  few  moments  and  then 
she  said : 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  feeling  about — about  democracy. 
I  see  your  point  of  view  but  I  can't  take  it.  I  know 
that  you  are  right  but  I'm  afraid  my  education  is  too 
strong  for  me.  I  don't  believe  in  the  people  as  you 
do.  It's  beautiful  when  you  say  it.  I  like  to  hear 
you.  And  I  would  not  wish  you  to  feel  as  I  do  I'd 
hate  it  if  you  did.  It  would  be  stooping,  grovelling 
for  you  to  make  distinctions  among  people.  But " 


ILLUSION.  229 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  make  distinctions  among  people — so 
much  so  that  I  have  never  had  a  friend  in  my  life  until 
you  came.  I  have  been  on  intimate  terms  with  many, 
but  no  one  except  you  has  been  on  intimate  terms 
with  me.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  one  of  the  most  exclusive 
persons  in  the  world." 

"  That  sounds  like  autocracy,  doesn't  it?  "  laughed 
Marian.  "  But  you  know  I  don't  mean  that.  You  think 
all  the  others  are  just  as  good  as  you  are,  only  in  differ 
ent  ways,  whereas  I  feel  that  they're  not.  You  don't 
mind  vulgarity  and  underbreeding  because  you  are 
perfectly  indifferent  to  people  so  long  as  they  don't 
try  to  jump  the  fence  about  your  own  little  private 
enclosure." 

"  Oh,  I  believe  in  letting  other  people  alone,  and 
I  insist  upon  being  let  alone  myself.  You  see  you 
make  the  whole  world  revolve  about  social  distinctions. 
The  fact  is,  isn't  it,  that  social  distinctions  are  mere 
trifles " 

"  You  oughtn't  to  waste  time  arguing  with  a  prej- 
udice.  I  admit  that  what  I  believe  and  feel  is  un- 
reasonable.  But  I  can't  change  an  instinct.  To  me 
some  people  are  better  than  others  and  are  entitled  to 
more,  and  ought  to  be  looked  up  to  and  respected." 

Howard  had  an  answer  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 
His  passion  for  high  principle  seemed  to  have  been 
rekindled  for  the  time  by  his  love  and  in  this  tranquil- 


230  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

lising  environment.  He  felt  strongly  tempted  to  rea< 
son  with  her  unreasonableness,  thus  practically  boasted 
as  a  virtue.  It  seemed  so  unworthy,  this  streak  of  snob 
bery,  so  senseless  in  an  American  at  most  three  gener 
ations  away  from  manual  labour.  But  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  long  ago  to  trust  to  new  surroundings,  new 
interests  to  create  in  her  a  spirit  more  in  sympathy 
with  his  career. 

"  She  is  too  intelligent,  too  high-minded,"  he  often 
reassured  himself,  "  to  cling  to  this  stupidity  of  class- 
feeling.  She  has  heard  nothing  but  class-distinction 
all  her  life.  Now  that  she  is  away  from  those  people, 
with  their  petty  routine  of  petty  ideas,  she  will 
begin  to  see  things  as  they  are." 

So  he  suppressed  the  argument  and,  instead,  said  in 
a  tone  of  mock-pity  :  "  Poor  fallen  queen — to  marry 
beneath  her.  How  she  must  have  fought  against  the 
idea  of  such  a  plebeian  partner." 

"  Plebeian — you  ?  "  Marian  looked  at  him  proudly. 
"  Why,  one  has  only  to  see  you  to  know." 

"  Yes,  plebeian.  I  shall  conceal  it  no  longer.  My 
ancestors  were  plain,  ordinary,  common,  untitled 
Americans." 

"  Why,  so  were  mine,"  she  laughed. 

"  Don't !  You  distress  me.  I  should  never  have 
married  you  had  I  known  that." 

"  I  am  absurd,  am  I  not  ?  "  Marian  said  gaily.     "  But 


ILLUSION.  231 

let  me  have  my  craze  for  well-mannered  people  and 
I'll  leave  you  your  craze  for  the — the  masses." 

They  began  to  canter.  Howard  was  smiling  in  spite 
of  his  irritation  ;  for  it  always  irritated  him  to  have  her 
refuse  to  see  his  point  in  this  matter — his  distinction 
between  a  person  as  a  friend  and  a  person  as  a 
sociological  unit. 

He  worked  for  an  hour  or  two  every  morning  and 
sometimes  in  the  evening,  Marian  not  far  from  his 
desk,  so  seated  that  when  she  turned  the  page  of  her 
book  she  could  lift  her  eyes  and  look  at  him.  She 
read  the  papers  diligently  every  day  for  the  first  week. 
At  the  outset  she  thought  she  was  interested.  But 
she  knew  so  little  about  newspaper  details  that  she 
soon  had  to  confess  to  herself  that  she  was  in  fact  in 
terested  in  Howard  as  her  husband  and  lover,  and  that 
his  career  interested  her  only  in  a  broad,  general  way. 
What  he  talked  about,  that  she  understood  and  liked 
and  was  able  to  discuss.  But  the  newspapers  and  the 
news  direct  suggested  nothing  to  her,  bored  her. 

"  Just  read  that,"  he  would  say,  pointing  to  an  item. 
She  would  read  it  and  wonder  what  he  meant. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  would  think,  "  that  it  wouldn't 
in  the  least  matter  if  that  had  not  been  printed." 
Then  she  would  ask  evasively  but  with  an  assump 
tion  of  interest,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

And  he  would  explain  the  meaning  between  the  lines ; 


232  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  hinted  facts  that  ought  to  be  brought  out ;  the 
possibilities  of  getting  a  piece  of  news  that  would  at 
tract  wide  attention.  And  she  would  see  it,  sometimes 
clearly,  usually  vaguely ;  and  she  would  admire  him, 
but  resume  her  unconquerable  indifference  to  news. 

She  was  soon  looking  at  the  paper  only  to  read  what 
he  wrote ;  and  she  often  thought  how  much  more  in 
teresting  he  was  as  a  talker  than  as  a  writer.  "  I'll 
start  right  when  we  get  to  town,"  she  was  con 
stantly  promising  herself.  "  It  must,  must,  must 
be  our  work." 

Howard  was,  as  she  had  told  him,  acutely  sensi 
tive  to  her  moods.  He  did  not  formulate  it  to 
himself  but  simply  obeyed  an  instinct  which  defined 
for  him  the  limits  of  her  interest.  Before  they  had 
been  at  Lakewood  a  month,  he  was  working  alone 
without  any  expectation  of  sympathy  or  interest 
from  her  and  without  the  slightest  sense  of  loss  in  not 
getting  it.  Why  should  he  miss  that  which  he  had 
never  had,  had  never  counted  upon  getting?  He  had 
always  been  mentally  alone,  most  alone  in  the  plans 
and  actions  bearing  directly  upon  his  own  career.  He 
was  perfectly  content  to  have  her  as  the  companion 
of  his  leisure. 

Possibly,  if  he  had  been  insistent,  or  if  they  had  been 
in  real  sympathy  instead  of  in  only  surface  sympathy 
in  most  respects,  she  might  have  become  interested  in 


ILLUSION.  233 

his  work,  might  have  impelled  him  to  right  develop 
ment.  But  her  distaste  and  inertia  and  his  habit  of 
debating  and  deciding  questions  as  to  the  paper  in 
his  own  mind,  the  fear  of  boring  her,  the  dread  of  in 
truding  upon  her  rights  to  her  own  individual  tastes 
and  feelings,  restrained  him  without  his  having  a  sense 
of  restraint. 

When,  after  two  months,  they  went  up  to  town  to 
stay,  their  course  of  life  was  settled,  though  Marian 
was  protesting  that  it  was  not  and  Howard  was  un 
conscious  of  there  having  been  any  settlement,  or  any 
thing  to  settle. 


XXI. 

WAVERING. 

THEIR  home  was  an  apartment  at  Twenty-ninth 
Street  and  Madison  Avenue — just  large  enough  for 
two  with  its  eleven  rooms,  all  bearing  the  stamp  of 
Marian's  individuality.  She  had  a  keen  sense  of  the 
beautiful  and  she  had  given  her  thought  and  most  of 
her  time  between  the  early  autumn  and  the  wedding 
to  making  an  attractive  home.  He  had  not  seen  her 
work  until  they  came  together  in  the  late  afternoon 
of  a  day  in  the  last  week  of  February. 

«  You — everywhere  you,"  he  said,  as  they  inspected 
room  after  room.  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  add  any 
thing  to  that.  It  is  beautiful — the  things  you  have 
brought  together,  I  mean,  the  furniture,  curtains, 
carpets,  pictures,  all  beautiful  in  themselves,  but " 

He  was  looking  at  her  in  that  way  which  made  her 
feel  his  great  love  for  her  even  more  deeply  than 
when  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and  kissed  her.  "  It 
reminds  me  of  what  I  so  often  think  about  you. 
Nature  gave  you  beauty  but  you  make  it  wonderful 
because  ^0«  shine  through  it,  give  it  the  force,  the  ex 
pression  of  your  individuality.  Other  women  have 


WAVERING.  235 

noses,  eyes,  chins,  mouths  as  beautiful  as  yours.  But 
only  you  produce  such  effects  with  the  materials.  I 
don't  express  it  very  well  but — you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand."  She  was  leaning  against 
him,  her  head  resting  upon  his  shoulder.  "  And  you 
like  your  home  ?  " 

"  We  shall  be  happy  here.  I  feel  it  in  the  air. 
This  is  a  temple  of  the  three  great  gods — Freedom, 
Love  and  Happiness.  And — we'll  keep  the  fires  on 
the  altars  blazing,  won't  we  ?  " 

His  hours  were  most  irregular.  Sometimes  he  was 
off  to  work  early  in  the  morning.  Again  he  would  not 
rise  until  noon.  Sometimes  he  did  not  go  to  the 
office  after  dinner,  and  again  he  came  hurriedly  to 
dinner,  not  having  the  time  to  dress,  and  left  im 
mediately  afterward  to  be  gone  until  two,  three 
or  even  four  in  the  morning.  At  first  Marian  tried  to 
follow  his  irregularities  ;  but  she  was  soon  compelled 
to  give  up  As  he  most  often  breakfasted  about  ten 
o'clock,  she  arranged  to  breakfast  regularly  at  that 
hour.  If  he  was  not  yet  up,  she  waited  about  the 
house  until  she  had  seen  him,  listened  while  he  talked 
of  those  "  everlasting  newspapers,"  praised  his  work 
a  great  deal,  criticised  it  little  and  that  gently.  She 
made  few  and  feeble  struggles  to  interest  herself  in 
newspapers  as  newspapers.  But  he  did  not  encourage 
her  ;  other  interests,  domestic  and  social,  clamoured  for 


236  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

her  time  ;  and  the  idea  of  being  directly  useful  to  him 
in  his  work  faded  from  her  mind. 

If  she  had  loved  him  more  sympathetically,  if  she 
had  not  been  so  super-sensitive  to  his  passion  for  com 
plete  freedom,  she  would  have  resented  what  in  another 
kind  of  man  would  have  seemed  frank  neglect  of  her. 
But  she  thought  she  understood  him  and  was  deceived 
by  his  self-deceiving  conviction  that  his  work  was  her 
service  and  that  the  highest  proof  of  his  devotion  to 
her  was  devotion  to  "  our  "  career.  Thus  there  was 
no  bitterness  or  reproach  of  him,  rarely  much  intensity, 
in  her  regret  that  they  were  together  so  little. 

"  Good  morning,  stranger !  "  she  said,  as  he  came 
into  the  dining  room  one  day  in  early  June. 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  then  the  "  topknot"  as  he 
called  the  point  into  which  her  hair  was  gathered  at 
the  crown  of  her  head.  "  It  has  been  four  days  since 
I  saw  you,"  he  said.  And  he  sat  opposite  her  looking 
at  her  with  an  expression  of  sadness  which  she  had 
not  seen  since  the  first  days  of  their  acquaintance. 

"  I  have  missed  you — you  know,"  she  was  trying  to 
look  cheerful,  "  but  I  understand " 

"Yes,"  he  interrupted.  "You  understand  what  I 
intend,  understand  that  I  mean  my  life  to  be  for  us. 
But  sometimes — this  morning — I  think  I  am  mistaken. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  letting  this — "  he  threw  his 
hand  contemptuously  toward  the  heap  of  morning 


WAVERING.  237 

newspapers  beside  him,  "  this  trash  comes  between  us. 
You  are  my  real  career,  not  these,  and  under  the  pre 
tense  of  working  for  us  I  am  spending  my  whole  life, 
my  one  life,  my  one  chance  to  help  to  make  us 
happy,  upon  these."  And  he  pushed  the  bundle  of 
papers  off  the  table. 

"  Something  has  depressed  you."  She  was  leaning 
her  elbow  upon  the  table  and  her  chin  upon  her  hand 
and  was  looking  at  him  wistfully.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
you  any  different.  You  must  follow  the  law  of  your 
nature.  You  must  work  at  your  ideal  of  being  useful 
and  influential  in  the  world.  You  would  not  be 
satisfied  to  take  my  hand  and  trudge  off  with  me 
through  Arcadia  to  pick  flowers  and  weave  them  into 
crowns  for  me.  Nor  should  I,"  she  laughed,  "  or  I  try 
to  think  I  shouldn't." 

"  Let  us  go  abroad  for  two  months,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  tired,  so  tired.  I  am  so  weary  of  all  these  others, 
men  and  things." 

"  Can  you  spare  the  time  ?  " 

"  I  " — he  corrected  himself — "  we  have  earned  a 
vacation.  It  will  be  for  me  the  first  real  vacation 
since  I  left  Yale — thirteen  years  ago.  I  am  growing 
narrow  and  stale.  Let  us  get  away  and  forget. 
Shall  we?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better — if  this  is  not  a  passing 
mood.  What  has  depressed  you  ?  "  she  persisted. 


238  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"What  seems  to  be  a  piece  of  very  good  luck." 
He  laughed  almost  sneeringly.  "  They  have  given 
me  a  share  in  the  paper,  twenty  thousand  in  stock — 
which  means  a  fixed  income  of  five  thousand  a  year 
so  long  as  the  paper  pays  what  it  does  now — twenty- 
five  per  cent.  And  they  offer  me  twenty  thousand 
more  at  par  to  be  paid  for  within  two  years.  We  are 
in  a  fair  way  to  be  rich." 

"  They  don't  want  to  lose  you,  evidently,"  she  said. 
"  But  why  does  this  make  you  sad  ?  We  are  inde 
pendent  now — absolutely  independent,  both  of  us." 

"  Yes — we  are  rich.  Together  we  have  more  than 
thirty-five  thousand  a  year.  But  it  is  not  what  I 
wanted.  I  wanted  to  be  free.  Can  a  man  be  free 
who  is  rich,  and  rich  in  the  way  we  are  ?  Will  my 
mind  be  open?  Shall  I  dare  to  act  and  speak  the 
truth  ?  Or  will  our  property,  our  environment,  speak 
for  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  a  slave  to  mere  dollars." 

"Can't  you?  Well,  I  am  afraid — I'm  really  afraid. 
I  have  always  said  that  if  I  wished  to  enslave  a  people 
I  would  make  them  prosperous,  would  give  them 
property,  make  them  dependent  upon  their  dollars. 
Then  the  fear  of  losing  their  dollars,  their  investments, 
would  make  them  endure  any  oppression.  Freedom's 
battles  were  never  fought  by  men  with  full  stomachs 
and  full  purses." 


WAVERING.  239 

"  But  rich  men  have  given  up  everything  for 
freedom — Washington  was  a  rich  man." 

"  Ah,  but  how  many  Washingtons  has  the  world 
produced?  I  see  the  time  coming  when  I  shall  have 
to  choose.  I  see  it  and — I  dread  it." 

She  rose  and  stood  behind  him  leaning  over  with 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  her  cheek  against  his. 

"  You  are  brave.  You  are  strong,"  she  whispered. 
"  You  will  meet  that  crisis  if  it  comes  and  I  have  no 
fear,  Mr.  Valiant-for-Truth,  as  to  how  the  battle  will 

go." 

He  was  glad  that  he  did  not  have  to  face  her  eyes 
just  then.  "  We  will  go  abroad  next  Wednesday 
week,"  he  whispered,  "  and  we'll  be  happy  in  France — • 
in  Switzerland — in  Holland — I  want  to  see  the  park 
at  the  Hague  again  ;  and  the  tall  trees  with  their 
straight  big  trunks  green  with  moss  ;  and  the  boughs 
meeting  over  the  canals  and  making  the  clear  water  so 
black ;  and  the  snow-white  swans  sailing  statelily 
about." 

*#-3f###### 

With  the  Atlantic  between  him  and  his  work,  he 
was  able  to  suspend  the  habit  of  so  many  years. 
You  would  have  fancied  them  just  married,  at  what 
ever  stage  of  their  wanderings  you  might  have  met 
them.  They  were  always  laughing  and  talking — an 
endless  flow  of  high  spirits,  absorption  each  in  the 


240  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

other.  They  rose  when  they  pleased,  went  to  bed 
when  it  suited  them.  They  had  a  manservant  and  a 
maid  with  them  to  relieve  them  of  all  the  details. 
They  travelled  only  in  the  afternoons,  and  then  not  far. 
If  they  missed  one  train,  they  cheerfully  waited  for 
another. 

"  I  think  we  are  achieving  my  ideal  of  vacation,"  he 
said. 

"What  is  that — perfect  idleness?  We  certainly 
are  idle.  I  shouldn't  have  believed  you  could  be  so 
idle." 

"  Perfect  idleness — yes.  But  more  than  that.  I 
aimed  far  higher.  My  ideal  was  perfect  irresponsi 
bility.  We  have  become  like  the  wind  that  bloweth 
where  it  listeth." 

And  again,  she  said  :  "  Let  me  see,  what  day  is 
this  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  Thursday  or  Friday,"  he  replied. 
"  But  it  may  be  Sunday.  I  can  assure  you  that  it  is 
afternoon,  late  afternoon,  and  I  think  we  ought  to 
dress  for  dinner  soon.  After  dinner,  if  you  still  care 
to  know,  and  will  remind  me,  I'll  try  to  find  out  the 
day.  But  I'm  sure  we  shall  have  forgotten  before 
to-morrow." 

Howard  got  an  extension  of  his  leave  of  absence 
and  they  roamed  about  England  in  August,  reach- 
ing  New  York  on  the  first  day  of  September.  Marian 


WAVERING.  241 

went  on  to  Mrs.  Carnarvon  at  Newport  and  Howard 
took  rooms  at  the  Waldorf.  She  stayed  away  a  full 
week,  then  came  to  town,  opened  their  apartment, 
and  surprised  him  with  a  formal  invitation  to  dinner. 

He  came  like  a  guest  and  they  went  through  all 
the  formalities  of  meeting  for  the  first  time,  of  in 
creasing  intimacy — condensing  a  complete  courtship 
into  one  evening. 

"  I  thought  you  had  had  enough  of  me  for  the 
time,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  in  the  wide  window-seat, 
he  tracing  with  his  forefinger  the  line  of  the  straps 
over  her  bare  shoulders. 

"  And  I  thought  that  I  would  give  you  a  chance  to 
forget  how  nice  I  am  and  so  give  you  the  pleasure  of 
learning  all  over  again.  But  it  was  so  lonely  and 
miserable  up  there.  '  Who  can  come  after  the  king  ?  ' ' 

"  Sometimes  I  think  I  ought  to  stir  about  more — 
meet  the  men  who  lead  in  the  city.  But  it  seems 
such  a  waste  of  time  when  I  can  come  and  call  upon 
you." 

"But  might  it  not  be  better  in  the  long  run  if  you 
did  meet  these  men?  Mightn't  it  make  your  getting 
on  quicker  and  easier?" 

"  Perhaps — if  I  were  a  gregarious  animal,  but  I'm 
not.  I'm  shy  and  solitary  and  hard  to  get  acquainted 
with.  And  it  takes  time  to  make  friends.  Besides, 
in  making  friends  you  also  make  enemies,  and  one 


242  THE  GREAT   GOD  SUCCESS. 

enemy  can  do  you  more  harm  than  all  your  friends 
can  do  you  good.  Then  too,  friends  take  up  too  much 
time.  We  have  so  little  time  and — we  can  spend  it 
to  so  much  better  advantage — can't  we  ?  " 

Marian  pushed  herself  closer  against  him  and 
presently  said  dreamily :  "So  much  happiness,  such 
utter  happiness  which  no  one,  nothing  can  take  away. 
I  wonder  when  and  how  the  first  storm  will  come  ?  " 

"  It  needn't  come  at  all — not  for  a  long,  long  time. 
And  when  it  does — we  can  weather  it,  don't  you 

think?" 

•x-******** 

During  the  next  two  months  they  were  together 
more  than  they  had  been  in  the  spring.  He  imposed 
day  office  hours  upon  himself  and  did  no  work  in  the 
evenings  except  the  correcting  of  editorial  proofs 
which  he  had  sent  to  him  at  the  house,  at  the  theatre, 
or  at  whatever  restaurant  they  were  dining.  And  at 
midnight  he  called  up  the  office  on  the  telephone 
and  talked  with  Mr.  King  or  Mr.  Vroom  about  the 
news  in  hand  and  the  programme  for  presenting 
it  in  the  next  morning's  paper. 

But  as  "  people  " — meaning  Marian's  friends — re 
turned  to  town,  they  fell  into  the  former  routine.  It 
was  in  part  his  doing,  in  part  hers.  He  was  now 
thirty-seven  years  old  and  his  mind,  always  of  a  serious 
cast,  was  intolerant  of  trifles  and  triflers. 


WAVERING.  243 

Marian's  range  of  interests  was  shallower  but  much 
wider  than  his.  Her  beauty,  her  cleverness,  her  tact 
caused  her  to  be  sought.  She  invited  many  to  their 
house  and  accepted  more  and  more  invitations.  At 
first  she  never  went  without  him.  But  he  was  some 
times  compelled  by  his  work  to  send  her  alone.  He 
rarely  went  except  for  I  *  sake — because  he  thought 
going  about  amused  her.  And  he  was  glad  and  re 
lieved  when  she  began  to  go  without  him,  instead  of 
spending  the  evenings  in  solitude. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  punish  your 
self  and  punish  me  because  you  had  the  ill  luck  to 
marry  a  working-man,"  he  said.  "  It  cannot  be 
agreeable  to  sit  here  all  by  yourself  evening  after 
evening.  And  it  depresses  me  when  I  am  at  the 
office  at  night  to  think  of  you  as  lonely.  It  makes 
me  happier  in  my  work — my  pleasure,  you  know — to 
think  of  you  enjoying  yourself." 

"But  aren't  you  afraid  that  some  one  will  steal 
me?  "  she  asked,  laughingly. 

"  Not  I."  He  was  smiling  proudly  at  her.  "  If 
you  could  be  stolen,  if  you  could  be  happier  anywhere 
than  with  me,  you  have  only  to  let  me  into  the  plot." 

"There  are  some  women  who  would  not  like  that." 

"  And  there  are  men  who  wouldn't  feel  as  I  do. 
But  you  and  I,  we  belong  to  a  class  all  by  ourselves, 
don't  we?" 


244  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Apparently  they  were  as  devoted  each  to  the  other 
as  ever.  But  each  now  sought  a  separate  happiness 
— he  perforce  in  his  work,  she  perforce  in  the  only 
way  left  open  to  her.  When  they  were  together, 
which  meant  several  hours  every  day  and  usually 
one  whole  day  in  the  week,  they  were  at  once 
seemingly  absorbed  each  in  the  other  with  all  the 
rest  as  background.  But  none  the  less,  they  were 
leading  separate  lives,  with  separate  interests,  separate 
tastes,  separate  modes  of  thinking.  The  "  bourgeois  " 
life  which  they  had  planned — both  standing  behind 
the  counter  and  both  adding  up  the  results  of  the 
day's  business  after  they  had  put  up  the  shutters,  two 
as  one  in  all  the  interests  of  life — became  a  dead  and 
forgotten  dream. 


XXII. 

THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE. 

ON  the  way  to  or  from  the  opera  or  a  party,  she 
would  peep  in  on  him,  watching  the  back  of  his  head 
as  he  bent  over  his  desk  or  read  away  at  some  dull- 
looking  book,  wishing  that  he  would  feel  her  pres 
ence  and  turn  with  that  smile  which  was  always  hers 
from  him,  yet  fearing  to  make  a  sound  and  compel 
his  attention. 

"  At  times  I  think,"  she  said  one  day  when  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms  on  a  sudden  impulse  and 
kissed  her,  "  that  the  reason  you  don't  try  to  rule  me 
is  because  you  don't  care  enough." 

"  That's  precisely  it"  He  was  smoothing  her  eye 
brows  with  his  forefinger.  "  I  don't  care  enough 
about  ruling.  I  don't  care  enough  for  the  sort  of 
love  that  responds  to  '  must.*  " 

"But  a  woman  likes  to  have  '  must '  said  to  her 
sometimes." 

"  Does  she  ?  Do  you  ?  Well— I'll  say  '  must '  to 
you.  You  must  love  me  freely  and  voluntarily,  or 
not  at  all.  You  must  do  as  you  please." 

"  But  don't  you  see  that  that  drives  me  from  you 


246  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

often,  keeps  us  apart  in  many  ways.  Now  if  you 
compelled  me  to  think  as  you  do,  to  like  what  you 
like " 

"  But  I  couldn't.  Then  you  would  no  longer  be 
you.  And  I  like  you  so  well  just  as  you  are  that  I 
would  not  change  an  idea  in  your  head." 

Marian  sighed  and  went  away  to  her  dinner  party0 
She  felt  that  she  was  in  danger.  "  Not  of  falling  in 
love  with  some  other  man,"  she  thought,  "  for  that's 
impossible.  But  if  a  man  were  to  come  along  who 
invited  me  to  be  interested  in  his  work,  to  keep  him 
at  whatever  he  was  doing,  I'd  accept  and  that  would 
lead  on  and  on — where  ?  " 

She  soon  had  an  opportunity  to  answer  that  ques 
tion.  Howard  went  away  to  Washington  to  assist 
the  party  leaders  in  putting  through  a  difficult  tariff- 
reform  bill  which  all  the  protected  interests  were 
fighting.  He  expected  to  be  gone  a  week  ;  but  week 
after  week  passed  and  he  was  still  at  the  capital,  di 
recting  the  paper  by  telegraph  and  sending  Marian 
hurried  notes  postponing  his  returne  She  was  going 
about  daily,  early  and  late,  her  life  vacant,  her  mind 
restlessly  seeking  occupation,  interest. 

After  he  had  been  gone  three  weeks  she  found  her 
self  at  dinner  at  Mrs.  Provost's  next  to  a  tall,  fair- 
haired  athletic  young  man  of  about  her  own  age. 
Something  in  his  expression — perhaps  the  amused 


THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE.  247 

way  in  which  he  studied  the  faces  of  the  others — 
attracted  her  to  him.  She  glanced  over  at  his  card. 
It  read  "  Mr.  Shenstone." 

"  It  doesn't  add  much  to  your  information,  does 
it  ?  "  he  smiled,  as  he  caught  her  glance  rising  from 
the  card. 

"  Nothing,"  she  confessed  candidly.  "  I  never 
heard  of  you  before." 

"And  yet  I've  been  splashing  about,  trying  to 
attract  attention  to  myself,  for  twelve  years." 

"  Perhaps  not  in  this  particular  pond." 

"  No,  that  is  true." 

"  I  was  wondering  what  you  do — lawyer,  doctor, 
journalist,  business  man  or  what. 

"And  what  did  you  conclude?" 

"  I  concluded  that  you  did  nothing." 

"  You  are  right.     But  I  try— I  paint." 

"Portraits?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  explains  your  way  of  looking  at  people. 
Only,  you'll  get  no  customers  if  you  paint  them  as 
you  see  them." 

"  I  only  see  what  they  see  when  they  look  in  the 
mirror." 

"  Yes,  but  you  see  it  impartially — or  rather,  I 
should  say,  cynically," 

"Thank  you," 


248  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  For  calling  me  cynical.  The  two  keenest  plea 
sures  a  man  can  attain  are  for  a  woman  to  call  him  a 
cynic  and  for  a  woman  to  call  him  a  devil  with  the 
women." 

"  Are  you  a  '  devil  with  the  women  '  ?  " 

"  Not  I — not  any  more  than  I  am  a  cynic.  But  let 
us  talk  about  you — I  am  about  exhausted  as  a  topic 
of  conversation.  Why  do  you  look  so  discontented  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  nothing  to  occupy  my  mind." 

"  No  children  ?  " 

"  None — and  no  dogs." 

"  No  husband  ?  " 

"  Husbands  are  busy." 

"  So  you  are  the  typical  American  woman — the 
American  instinct  for  doing,  the  universal  woman's 
instinct  for  sunshine  and  laziness ;  the  husband 
absorbed  in  his  business  or  profession  with  his  domes 
tic  life  as  an  incident ;  the  wife — like  you." 

"  That  is  right,  and  wrong — nearer  right  than  wrong, 
a  little  unjust  to  the  husband." 

"  Oh,  it's  probably  your  fault  that  you  are  not 
absorbed  in  his  business  or  profession.  It  ought  to  be 
as  much  yours  as  his.  What  does  he  do?" 

"  He  edits  a  newspaper." 

"  Oh,  he's  the  Mr.  Howard.  A  very  interesting,  a 
very  remarkable  man." 


THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE.  249 

Marian  was  delighted  by  this  appreciation.  She 
talked  with  Shenstone  again  after  dinner  and  was 
pleased  that  he  was  to  be  in  the  same  box  with  her 
at  the  opera  the  next  night.  He  had  spent  much 
of  his  time  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  He  was 
unusually  well  educated  for  an  artist's,  and  his  mind 
was  not  developed  in  one  direction  only.  Like  Marian, 
his  point  of  view  was  artistic  and  emotional.  Like  her 
he  had  a  reverence  for  tradition,  a  deference  to  caste — 
the  latter  not  offensive  for  the  same  reason  that  hers 
was  not,  because  good  birth  and  good  breeding  made 
him  of  the  "  high  caste  "  and  not  a  cringer  with  his 
eyes  craned  upward.  It  seemed  in  him,  as  in  her,  a 
sort  of  self-respect. 

Marian  showed  a  candid  liking  for  his  society  and 
he  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  it.  For  a  month 
they  saw  more  and  more  each  of  the  other,  she  dis 
creet  without  deliberation  and  he  discreet  With  deliber 
ation.  He  talked  to  her  of  his  work,  of  his  ambition. 
He  showed  her  himself  without  egotism.  He  made 
an  impression  upon  her  so  distinct  and  so  favourable 
that  she  admitted  to  herself  that  he  was  the  most 
fascinating  man — except  one — whom  she  had  ever 
met. 

When  Howard  at  last  returned,  defeated  by  cor 
ruption  within  his  own  party  and  for  the  time  dis 
gusted  with  politics,  she  at  once  had  Shenstone  at 


250  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  house  to  dine.  "  What  do  you  think  of  Mr, 
Shenstone  ?  "  she  asked  when  they  were  alone. 

"  No  wonder  you're  enthusiastic  about  him.  As  he 
talked  to  me,  I  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing.  It 
was  your  own  views,  almost  your  own  words.  He  has 
the  look  of  a  great  man.  I  think  he  will  '  arrive,'  as 
they  say  in  the  Bowery." 

Howard  went  out  of  his  way  to  be  agreeable  to 
Shenstone,  often  inviting  him  to  the  house  and  giv 
ing  him  a  commission  to  paint  Marian.  For  the  rest 
of  the  winter  Shenstone  was  constantly  in  Marian's 
company,  so  constantly  that  they  were  gossiped  about, 
and  all  the  women  who  were  unpleasantly  discussed 
"  for  cause  "  conspired  to  throw  them  together  as 
much  as  possible. 

One  evening  in  the  very  end  of  the  winter,  Howard 
called  to  Marian  from  his  dressing  room  :  "  Why,  lady, 
Shenstone's  gone,  hasn't  he  ?  I've  just  read  a  note 
from  him." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Marian  answered  in  a 
constrained  voice  :  "  Yes,  he  sailed  to-day." 

Howard  was  tying  his  bow.  He  paused  at  the 
curious  tone,  then  smiled  mysteriously  to  himself. 
He  put  on  his  waistcoat  and  coat  and  knocked  on  the 
half-open  door.  "  May  I  come  in?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes — I'm  waiting  for  dinner  to  be  announced." 

She  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  very  beautiful  in  her 


THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE.  251 

evening  gown.  She  seemed  not  to  observe  that  he 
had  entered  but  stared  on  into  the  flames.  He  stood 
beside  her,  looking  down  at  her  with  the  half  mocking, 
half  tender  smile.  Presently  he  sat  upon  the  arm  of 
her  chair  and  took  one  of  her  hands.  "  Poor,  friend 
less,  beautiful  lady,"  he  said  softly. 

She  glanced  up  quickly,  her  cheeks  flaming  but  her 
eyes  clear  and  frank.  "  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she 
asked  in  the  tone  of  one  who  knows  why. 

"  Other  women  will  not  be  her  friends  because  they 
are  jealous  of  her,  and  as  for  the  men — how  can  a  man 
be  really  a  friend  to  a  woman,  a  fascinating,  sympathetic 
woman  ?  " 

Marian  hid  her  face  against  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 
"  He  told  me,"  she  whispered,  "  and  then  he  went 
away." 

"  He  always  does  tell  her.     But " 

"  But— what  ?  " 

"  She  doesn't  always  send  him  away.  Poor  fellow  I 
Still,  he  went  into  it  with  his  eyes  open." 

"  He  was  very  nice.  He  told  it  in  a  roundabout 
way.  And  I  wasn't  a  bit  afraid  that  he'd — he'd — you 
know.  But  I  got  to  thinking  about  how  I'd  feel  if  he 
did — did  touch  me.  And  it  made  me — nervous." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  she  went  on :  "I 
wonder  how  you'd  feel  about  touching  another 
woman  ?  " 


252  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"I?  Dear  me,  I  wonder!  I  never  thought.  You 
see  I'm  such  a  domestic,  unattractive  creature " 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  please/'  she  pleaded. 

"  I'm  not  laughing.  Underneath,  I'm  thinking — 
thinking  what  I  would  do  if  I  met  you  and  lost  you. 
It's  very  black  on  the  Atlantic  for  one  pair  of  eyes 
to-night." 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  is,"  she  said,  "  that  my  vanity 
is  flattered  and  I'm  not  really  sorry  for  him." 

"  Rather  proud  of  her  conquest,  is  she  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  pleased  me  to  have  him  care." 

"  She  likes  to  think  that  he'll  carry  his  broken  heart 
to  the  grave,  does  she  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Isn't  it  shameful  ?  " 

"Shameful?  Shameless.  I  have  always  held  that 
even  the  best  woman  dearly  loves  to  ruin  a  man.  It's 
such  a  triumph.  And  the  more  she  loves  him,  the  more 
she'd  like  to  ruin  him — that  is,  if  ruin  came  solely 
through  love  for  her  and  didn't  involve  her." 

"  But  I  would  not  want  to  ruin  you." 

"  If  that  seemed  to  be  the  supreme  test  of  my  love 
for  you — are  you  sure?  I'm  not.  There's  Thomas, 
knocking  to  announce  dinner." 

The  Shenstone  incident  was  apparently  closed. 
Marian,  a  most  attractive  woman  of  thirty,  absorbed  in 
a  social  life  that  demanded  all  her  physical  and  mental 
energy  as  well  as  all  of  her  time,  did  not  long  vividly 


THE  SHENSTONE  EPISODE.  253 

remember  him.  But  he  had  given  her  a  standard  by 
which  she  unconsciously  measured  her  husband.  She 
contrasted  the  life  he  had  promised  her,  the  life 
Shenstone  reminded  her  of,  with  the  life  that  was — so 
material,  so  suspiciously  physical  when  it  professed  to 
be  loving,  so  suspiciously  chill  when  it  professed  to  be 
friendly.  She  thrust  aside  these  thoughts  as  disloyal 
and  false.  But  they  persisted  in  returning. 

If  she  had  been  less  appreciative  of  Howard's 
intellect,  less  fascinated  by  the  charm  of  his  personality, 
she  would  soon  have  become  one  of  the  "  misunder 
stood  "  women  in  search  of  "  consolation."  Instead, 
she  turned  her  mind  in  the  direction  natural  to  her 
character — social  ambition. 


XXIII. 

EXPANDING  AND   CONTRACTING. 

IN  such  a  city  as  New  York,  to  be  deliberately  care 
ful  about  money  is  the  only  way  to  keep  within  one's 
income,  whether  it  be  vast  or  small.  There  are 
temptations  to  buy  at  the  end  of  every  glance  of  the 
eye.  The  merchants  are  crafty  in  producing  new  and 
insidious  allurements,  in  creating  new  and  expensive 
tastes.  But  these  might  be  resisted  were  it  not  that 
the  habits  of  all  one's  associates  are  constantly  and  all 
but  irresistibly  stimulating  the  faculty  of  imitation. 

Neither  Howard  nor  Marian  had  been  brought  up 
to  be  watchful  about  money.  Both  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  having  their  wants  supplied.  And  now  that 
they  had  a  household  and  a  growing  income,  it  was 
a  matter  of  course  that  their  expenditures  should 
steadily  expand.  Before  three  years  had  passed  they 
were  spending  more  than  double  the  sum  which  at  the 
outset  they  had  fixed  upon  as  their  limit.  A  merely 
decent  and  self-respecting  return  of  the  hospitalities 
they  accepted,  a  carriage  and  pair  and  two  saddle 
horses  and  the  servants  to  look  after  them — these  items 
accounted  for  the  increase.  They  looked  upon  this  as 
really  necessary  expenditure  and  soon  would  have 


EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING.     255 

found  that  curtailment  involved  genuine  deprivation. 
From  the  very  beginning  each  step  in  expansion  made 
the  next  logical  and  inevitable,  made  the  plea  of 
necessity  seem  valid. 

An  aunt  of  Marian's  died,  leaving  her  a  "  small " 
house — worth  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  million — near 
the  Avenue  in  Sixty-fifth  Street,  and  eighty  thousand 
in  cash.  About  the  same  time  Stokely  told  Howard 
of  a  fine  speculative  opportunity  in  certain  copper 
properties.  Howard  hesitated.  He  knew  that  the 
way  of  speculation  was  the  way  of  bondage  for  his 
newspaper  and  for  him.  But  thisparticularadventure 
seemed  harmless  and  he  yielded.  The  money  was 
invested  and  within  a  few  months  was  producing  an 
income  of  fifteen  thousand  a  year  which  promised  to 
be  steady.  Howard's  ownership  of  stock  in  the  paper 
increased  ;  and  as  the  profits  advanced  swiftly  with  its 
swift  growth  in  its  illustrated  form,  his  own  income 
was  nearly  fifty  thousand  a  year.  They  were  growing 
very  rich.  There  was  no  longer  the  slightest  anxiety 
as  to  money  in  his  mind. 

"  You  know  the  great  dread  I  had  in  marrying,"  he 
said  to  her  one  day,  "was  lest  I  should  make  myself 
and  you  dependents,  should  some  day  sacrifice  my 
freedom  to  my  fear  of  losing — happiness." 

"  Yes,  and  very  foolish  you  were,  not  to  have  more 
confidence  in  yourself  and  in  me." 


256  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Perhaps.  But  what  I  am  thinking  is  that  you  have 
brought  me  luck.  I  am  free,  beyond  anybody's  reach. 
I  could  quit  the  paper  to-morrow  and  we  should 
hardly  have  to  change  our  style  of  living  even  if  I  did 
not  get  something  else  to  do." 

"  Style  of  living — "  in  that  phrase  lay  the  key  to  the 
change  that  was  swiftly  going  on  in  Howard's  mind 
and  mental  attitude.  It  is  not  easy  for  a  man  with 
environment  wholly  in  his  favour  to  keep  his  point  of 
view  correct,  to  keep  his  horizon  wide  and  clear,  his 
sense  of  proportion  just.  It  is  next  to  impossible  for 
him  to  do  so  when  his  environment  opposes. 

The  man  who  looks  out  from  misery  and  squalor 
upon  misery  and  squalor  is,  if  he  thinks  at  all,  natur 
ally  an  anarchist.  To  him  the  established  order 
shows  only  injustice  and  persistence  of  injustice. 
The  man  who  looks  out  from  luxury  and  ease  and 
well-being  upon  luxury  and  ease  and  well-being  is 
forced  by  the  very  limitations  of  the  human  mind  to 
an  over-reverence  for  the  established  order.  He  is 
unreasonably  suspicious  of  anything  that  threatens 
change.  "  When  I'm  comfortable  all's  well  in  the 
world  ;  change  might  bring  discomfort  to  me."  And 
he  flatters  himself  that  he  is  a  "  conservative." 

Howard  had  had  a  long  training  at  the  correct 
standpoint  and  in  right  thinking.  But  the  influences 
were  there,  were  at  work,  were  destroying  his  devo- 


EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING.      257 

tion  to  a  social  and  political  ideal  wholly  alien  to  the 
life  he  was  now  living  under  the  leading  of  his  wife. 
He  did  not  blame  her,  indeed  he  could  not  justly 
have  blamed  her,  for  his  falling  away  from  what  he 
knew  were  correct  principles  for  him.  While  she  had 
brought  him  into  this  environment,  while  at  first  it 
was  in  large  part  for  her  that  he  gave  so  much  time 
and  thought  to  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  soon 
love  of  luxury,  dependence  upon  a  train  of  servants, 
fondness  for  the  great  extravagances  to  which  New 
York  tempts  the  rich  and  those  living  near  the  rich, 
became  stronger  in  him  than  it  was  in  her.  And 
through  the  inevitable  reaction  of  environment  upon 
the  man,  the  central  point  in  his  valuation  of  men  and 
women  tended  to  shift  from  the  fundamentals,  mind 
and  character,  to  the  surface  qualities — dress  and  style 
and  manners  and  refinement,  and  even  dress. 

This  process  of  demoralisation  was  well  advanced 
when  they  moved  from  the  apartment.  After  four 
years  of  "  expansion  "  there,  they  had  begun  to  feel 
cramped ;  and  a  year  after  Marian  inherited  the  house 
Howard  had  progressed  to  the  mental,  the  moral,  the 
financial  state  where  it  seemed  natural,  logical,  practi 
cally  necessary  that  they  should  set  up  a  real  New 
York  "  establishment." 

"Isn't  this  just  the  house  for  us?"  she  said.  "I 
hate  huge,  big  houses.  Like  you,  I  think  the  taste  of 


258  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

the  occupants  should  be  everywhere.  Now  this  house 
is  just  big  enough.  You  don't  know  how  wonderful 
it  would  be." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  he  laughed,  "  and  you  must  try  it.  " 
He  was  as  enthusiastic  as  she. 

In  the  late  autumn  the  house  was  ready ;  and  there 
was  not  a  more  artistic  interior  in  New  York.  It  was 
not  so  much  the  result  of  great  expense  as  of  intelli 
gence  and  taste.  It  was  an  expression  of  an  individ 
uality — a  revelation  of  a  woman's  beautiful  mind, 
inspired  by  love. 

"  At  last  I  have  something  to  interest,  to  occupy 
me,"  she  said.  "  This  is  our  very  own,  through  and 
through  our  own.  It  will  be  such  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
keep  it  always  like  this." 

"  You — degenerated  into  a  household  drudge,"  he 
mocked.  "  Why,  you  used  to  laugh  at  me  when  I 
held  up  a  wife  who  was  a  good  housekeeper  as  one  of 
my  ideals." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Well,  as  you  would  say, 
see  what  I've  come  to  through  living  with — a  mem 
ber  of  the  working-classes." 

Howard's  own  particular  part  of  this  house  included 
a  library  with  a  small  study  next  to  it.  In  the  study 
was  a  most  attractive  table  with  plenty  of  room  to 
spread  about  books  and  papers,  a  huge  divan  in  the  cor 
ner  and  a  fire-place  near  by.  He  found  himself  doing 


EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING.     259 

more  and  more  of  his  work  at  home.  There  were  not 
so  many  interruptions  as  at  the  office,  the  beauty  of  the 
surroundings,  the  consciousness  that  "  she  "  was  not 
far  away — all  combined  to  keep  him  at  home  and  to 
enable  him  to  do  more  and  better  work  there. 

He  was  justly  and  greatly  proud  of  her  achieve 
ment  ;  and  where  he  used  to  be  more  regretful  than 
he  admitted  even  to  himself  when  they  had  guests,  he 
was  now  glad  to  see  others  about,  admiring  her  taste, 
appreciating  her  skill  as  a  hostess  and  giving  him 
opportunities  to  look  at  her  from  an  ever  new  point 
of  view. 

Of  course  these  guests  were  almost  all  "  their  kind 
of  people " — amiable,  well  mannered  persons  who 
thought  and  acted  in  that  most  conventional  of 
moulds,  the  mould  of  "  good  society."  They  fitted 
into  the  surroundings,  they  did  their  part  toward 
making  those  surroundings  luxurious — a  "  wallow  of 
self-complacent  content."  And  this  environment 
soon  suited  and  fitted  him  exactly. 

But  to  her  he  was  still  The  Democrat.  She  loved 
him  in  the  way  and  to  the  degree  which  her  character, 
as  the  years  had  developed  it,  permitted  her  to  love 
And  this  love,  or  rather  admiring  respect,  was  wholly 
based  upon  her  ideal  of  him,  her  belief  in  the  honesty 
and  intensity  of  his  convictions.  While  she  did  not 
share  them,  she  had  breadth  enough  to  admire  them 


260  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

and  to  regard  them  as  high  removed  above  her  own 
ideas  to  which  for  herself  she  held  tenaciously,  in 
stinct  and  association  and  "  tradition "  triumphing 
over  reason. 

Howard  retained  his  ideal  of  her,  never  examining 
her  closely,  never  seeing  or  suspecting  what  a  pale  love 
she  gave  him  and  how  shrivelled  had  become  the  part 
of  her  nature  which  she  and  he  both  assumed  was  most 
strongly  developed.  He  knew  how  she  idealised  him 
and  did  not  dare  to  undeceive  her.  Therefore  he 
practised  toward  her  a  hypocrisy  that  grew  steadily 
more  disgraceful,  yet  grew  so  gradually  that  there  was 
no  single  moment  at  which  he  could  conveniently  halt 
and  "  straighten  the  record."  At  first  he  was  often 
and  heartily  ashamed  of  himself ;  but  by  degrees  this 
feeling  deadened  into  cynical  insensibility  and  he  was 
only  ashamed  to  let  her  see  him  as  he  really  was.  She 
had  kept  her  self-respect.  She  esteemed  self-respect 
at  the  exalted  valuation  he  had  formerly  put  upon  it. 
What  if  she  should  find  him  out  ? 

#-K#-fc###-X-# 

When  the  famous  "  coal  conspiracy  "  was  formed, 
three  of  the  men  conspicuous  in  it  were  among  their 
intimates — that  is,  their  families  were  often  at  his 
house  and  he  and  Marian  were  often  at  theirs.  Yet  he 
had  never  made  a  more  relentless  attack.  Nor  did  he, 
either  in  the  news  columns  or  on  the  editorial  page,  con- 


EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING.     261 

ceal  the  connection  of  his  three  friends   with  the  con 
spiracy. 

"  Mrs.  Mercer  was  here  this  morning,"  Marian  said 
as  they  were  waiting  for  the  butler  to  announce  dinner. 
She  was  flushed  and  embarrassed. 

Howard  laughed.  "  And  did  she  tell  you  what  a 
dreadful  husband  you  had?" 

"  Oh,  she  didn't  blame  you  at  all.  She  said  they 
all  knew  how  perfectly  upright  you  were.  Only,  she 
said  you  did  not  understand  and  were  doing  Mr.  Mercer 
a  great  injustice." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think?0 

"  Why — I  can't  believe — is  it  possible,  dear — I  was 
just  reading  one  of  your  editorials.  Can  Mr.  Mercer 
be  in  such  a  scheme  ?  The  way  she  told  it  to  me,  he 
and  the  others  were  really  doing  a  lot  of  people  a 
valuable  service,  putting  their  property  on  a  paying 
basis,  enabling  the  railroads  to  meet  their  expenses 
and  to  keep  thousands  and  thousands  of  men 
employed." 

"Poor  Mercer!"  Howard  said  ironically.  "Poor 
misunderstood  philanthropist !  What  a  pity  that  that 
sort  of  benevolence  has  to  be  carried  on  by  bribing 
judges  and  prosecutors  and  legislatures,  by  making  the 
poor  shiver  and  freeze,  by  subtracting  from  the  plea 
sures  and  adding  to  the  anxieties  of  millions.  One 
would  almost  say  that  such  a  philanthropy  had  better 


262  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

not  be  undertaken.  It  is  so  likely  to  be  misunderstood 
by  the  '  unruly  classes/  " 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you  were  right.  I  told  her  you  must 
be  right,  that  you  never  wrote  until  you  knew." 

"  And  what  was  the  result?" 

"  Well,  we  are  making  some  very  bitter  enemies." 

"  I  doubt  it.  I  suspect  that  before  long  they'll  come 
wheedling  about  in  the  hope  that  I'll  let  up  on  them  or 
be  a  little  easier  next  time." 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not  care  what  they  do,"  said  Marian, 
drawing  herself  up.  "All  I  care  for  is — you,  and  to 
see  you  do  your  duty  at  whatever  cost  or  regardless  of 
cost — "  she  was  leaning  over  the  back  of  his  chair  with 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  her  lips  very  near  to  his 
ear — "  you  are  my  love  without  fear  and  without  re 
proach." 

"  Listen,  dear."  He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her 
arms  more  closely  about  his  neck.  "  Suppose  that  the 
lines  were  drawn — as  they  may  be  any  day.  Suppose 
that  we  had  to  choose,  with  all  these  friends  of  yours, 
with  our  position,  yes,  even  the  place  I  have  won  in  my 
profession,  my  place  as  editor — all  that  we  now  have 
on  the  one  side  ;  and  on  the  other  side  a  thankless, 
unprofitable,  apparently  useless  standing  up  for  the 
right.  Wouldn't  you  miss  your  friends?" 

11  All  our  friends?  And  who  will  be  on  the  other 
side?" 


EXPANDING  AND  CONTRACTING.     263 

"  Almost  no  one  that  we  know — that  you  would 
care  to  call  upon  or  go  about  with  or  have  here  at  the 
house.  Nobody  with  any  great  amount  of  wealth  or 
social  position.  Those  other  people  who  are  in  town 
when  it  is  said  '  Nobody  is  in  town  now  ! ' ' 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Where  would  you  be?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that."  She  came  around 
and  sat  on  his  knee.  "Where?  Why,  there's  only 
one  'where'  in  all  this  world  for  me — 'wheresoever 
thou  goest.'  " 

And  so  the  half-formed  impulse  to  begin  to  straighten 
himself  out  with  her  was  smothered  by  her. 

Both  were  silent  through  dinner.  She  was  thinking 
how  honest,  how  fearless  he  was,  how  he  loved  her, 
how  eagerly  she  would  follow  him,  how  blessed  she 
was  in  the  love  of  such  a  man.  And  he — he  was  re 
gretting  that  his  "  pose  "  had  carried  him  so  far  ;  he 
was  wishing  that  he  had  not  been  so  bitter  in  his 
attacks  upon  his  and  his  wife's  friends,  the  coal  con 
spirators.  When  he  had  definitely  cast  in  his  lot  with 
"  the  shearers  "  why  persist  in  making  his  hypocrisy 
more  abominable  by  protesting  more  loudly  than 
ever  in  behalf  of  "  the  sheep  ?  "  Above  all,  why  had 
he  let  his  habit  of  voluble  denunciation  lead  him  into 
this  hypocrisy  with  the  woman  he  loved  ? 

He  admitted  to  himself  that  "causes"  had  ceased 


264  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

to  interest  him  except  as  they  might  contribute  to  the 
advancement  of  his  power.  Power  ! — that  was  his  am 
bition  now.  First  he  had  wished  to  have  an  inde 
pendent  income  in  order  to  be  free.  When  he  had 
achieved  that,  it  was  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  mental 
freedom.  And  now,  with  the  clearness  of  self-know 
ledge  which  only  men  of  great  ability  have,  he  knew 
that  the  one  cause  for  which  he  would  make  sacrifices 
was — himself. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking  so  gloomily?"  she 
interrupted. 

"  Oh — I — let  me  see — well,  I  was  thinking  what  a 
fraud  I  am  ;  and  that  I  wished  I  could  dupe  myself  as 
completely  as  I  can  dupe " 

"Me?"  she  laughed.  "Oh,  we're  all  frauds- 
shocking  frauds.  I  wouldn't  have  you  see  me  as  I 
really  am  for  anything." 

Although  her  remark  was  a  commonplace,  of  small 
meaning,  as  he  knew,  he  got  comfort  out  of  it,  so 
desperately  was  he  casting  about  for  some  consolation. 

"  That's  true,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  And  I  wish  that 
you  liked  the  kind  of  a  fraud  I  am  as  well  as  I  like  the 
kind  of  a  fraud  you  are." 


XXIV. 

"  MR.  VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH." 

STOKELY  came  rushing  into  his  office  the  next 
morning.  "  Good  God,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  What's  the  meaning  of  this  attack  on  the  coal 
roads?" 

Howard  flushed  with  resentment,  not  at  what 
Stokely  said,  but  at  his  tone. 

"  Now,  don't  get  on  your  high  horse.  I  don't  think 
you  understand."  Stokely's  tone  had  moderated. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  the  Delaware  Valley  road  is  in 
this?" 

Howard  started.  He  had  just  invested  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  that  stock  on  Stokely's  advice 
"  No,  I  didn't  know  it."  He  recovered  himself.  "  And 
furthermore  I  don't  give  a  damn."  He  struck  his  desk 
angrily.  His  simulation  of  incorruptible  indignation 
for  the  moment  half  deceived  himself. 

"  Why,  man,  if  this  infernal  roast  is  kept  up,  you'll 
lose  a  hundred  thousand.  Then  there  are  my  inter 
ests.  I'm  up  to  my  neck  in  this  deal." 

"  My  advice  to  you  is  to  get  out  of  it.  I'm  sorry, 
but  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  thing  is  in 
famous." 


266  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  Infamous — nonsense  !  It  will  double  our  dividends 
and  the  consumers  won't  feel  it." 

"  Let  us  not  discuss  it,  Stokely.  There — don't  say 
anything  you'll  regret." 

«  But " 

"  Now,  Stokely — don't  argue  it  with  me." 

Stokely  put  on  his  hat,  stqod  up  and  looked  at 
Howard  with  sullen  admiration.  "You  will  drive 
away  the  last  friend  you've  got  on  earth,  if  you  keep 
this  up.  Good  morning." 

Howard  sent  a  smile  of  cynical  amusement  after 
him,  then  stared  thoughtfully  into  the  mass  of  papers 
on  his  desk  for  five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes.  When  his 
plan  was  formed  he  touched  the  electric  button. 

"  Please  tell  Mr.  King  I'd  like  to  see  him,"  he  said 
to  the  answering  boy. 

Mr.  King  entered  with  a  bundle  of  legal  documents. 
"  I  suppose  it's  the  injunction  you  want  to  discuss," 
he  said.  "  We've  got  the  papers  all  ready.  It's  sim 
ply  great.  Those  fellows  will  be  in  a  corner  and  will 
have  to  give  up.  They  can't  get  away  from  us.  The 
price  of  coal  will  drop  half  a  dollar  within  a  week,  I'll 
bet." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  over  sanguine,"  Howard  said. 
"  I've  just  been  going  over  the  matter  with  my  lawyer. 
But  leave  the  papers  with  me.  And — about  the  news 
— be  careful  what  you  say.  We've  been  going  a  little 


"MR.  VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH."         267 

strong.  I  think  a  little  less  personal  matter  would  be 
advisable." 

Mr.  King  was  amazed  and  looked  it.  He  slowly 
pulled  himself  together  to  say,  "  All  right,  Mr.  Howard. 
I  think  I  understand."  He  laid  the  papers  down  and 
departed.  Outside  the  door  he  laughed  softly  to  him 
self.  "  Somebody's  been  cutting  his  comb,  I  guess," 
he  murmured.  "Well,  I  didn't  think  he'd  last.  New 
York  always  gets  'em  when  they're  worth  while." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  King,  Howard  drew  out 
the  lowest  and  deepest  drawer  of  his  desk.  It  was 
half-filled  with  long-undisturbed  pamphlets  and  news 
paper  cuttings.  He  tossed  in  the  injunction  papers. 
A  cloud  of  dust  flew  up  and  settled  thickly  upon 
them.  He  shut  the  drawer. 

He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  over  the 
city — that  seductive,  that  overwhelming  expression  of 
wealth  and  power.  "  What  was  it  my  father  wrote 
me  when  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  New  York?  "  and 
he  recalled  almost  the  exact  words — "  New  York  that 
lures  young  men  from  the  towns  and  the  farms,  and 
prostitutes  them,  teaches  them  to  sell  themselves 
with  unblushing  cheeks  for  a  fee,  for  an  office,  for 
riches,  for  power."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
smiled,  drew  himself  up,  returned  to  his  desk  and  was 
soon  absorbed  in  his  work. 

The  next  morning  the  News-Record's  double-leaded 


268  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  leader  "  on  the  Coal  Trust  was  a  discharge  of  heavy 
artillery.  But  it  was  artillery  in  retreat.  And  in  the 
succeeding  days,  the  retreat  continued — not  precipi 
tate  but  orderly,  masterly. 

•x--******-** 

Ten  days  after  their  talk  on  the  "  coal  conspiracy  " 
Marian  greeted  him  late  in  the  afternoon  with  "  Oh, 
such  a  row  with  Mrs.  Mercer !  " 

"  Mrs.  Mercer !     Why,  what  was  she  angry  about  ?  " 

"  She  wasn't — at  least,  not  at  first.  It  was  I.  I 
went  to  see  her  and  she  asked  me  to  thank  you  for 
stopping  that  fight  on  the  coal  conspiracy." 

"  That  was  tactful  of  her/'  Howard  said,  turning 
away  to  hide  his  nervousness. 

"  And  I  told  her  that  you  had  not  stopped,  that 
you  wouldn't  stop  until  you  had  broken  it  up.  And 
she  smiled  in  a  superior  way  and  said  I  was  quite  mis 
taken,  that  I  didn't  read  the  paper.  I  haven't  read  it 
for  several  days,  but  I  knew  you,  dear,  and  I  re 
membered  what  you  had  said.  And  so  we  just  had  it. 
We  were  polite  but  furious  when  I  went.  I  shall 
never  go  near  her  again." 

"  But,  unfortunately,  we  have  stopped.  We  had  to 
do  it.  We  could  accomplish  nothing." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter.  What  angered  me  was  her 
insinuation." 

"  That  was  irritating.     But,  tell  me,  what  if  it  had 


"  MR.  VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH."          269 

been  true?"  Howard's  voice  was  strained  and  he 
was  looking  at  her  eagerly,  with  fever  in  his  eyes. 

"  But  it  couldn't  be.  It  isn't  worth  while  imagining. 
You  could  not  be  a  coward  and  a  traitor."  So  com- 
plete  was  her  confidence  in  him  that  suspicion  of  him 
was  impossible. 

"  Would  you  sit  in  judgment  on  me  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  But  you  can — you  could  help  it."  His  manner 
was  agitated,  and  he  spoke  almost  fiercely.  "  I  am 
free,"  he  went  on,  and  as  she  watched  his  eyes  she 
understood  why  men  feared  him.  "  I  do  what  I  will. 
I  am  not  accountable  to  you,  not  even  to  you.  I  have 
never  asked  you  to  approve  of  me,  to  approve  what  I 
do,  to  love  me.  You  are  free  also,  free  to  love,  free  to 
withdraw  your  love.  I  follow  the  law  of  my  own 
being.  You  must  take  me  as  you  find  me  or  not  at 
all." 

She  tried  to  stop  him  but  could  not.  His  words 
poured  on.  He  leaned  forward  and  took  her  hand 
and  his  eyes  were  brilliant  and  piercing.  "  I  love 
you,"  he  said.  "Ah,  how  I  love  you — not  because 
you  love  me,  not  because  you  are  an  angel,  not  be 
cause  you  are  a  superior  being.  No,  not  for  any 
reason  in  all  this  wide  world  but  because  you  are  you. 
Do  what  you  will  and  I  shall  love  you.  Whether  I 
had  to  look  up  among  the  stars  or  down  in  the  mire 


2/o  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

to  find  you,  I  would  look  just  as  steadily,  just  as 
proudly." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  and  his  hand  trembled.  "  If 
I  were  a  traitor,  then,  if  you  loved  me,  you  would  say, 
4  What !  Is  he  to  be  found  among  traitors?  Howl 
love  treason  ! '  If  I  were  a  coward,  liar,  thief,  a  sum 
of  all  the  vices,  then,  if  you  ever  had  loved  me  you 
would  love  me  still.  I  want  no  love  with  mental  res 
ervations,  no  love  with  ifs  and  buts  and  provided- 
thats.  I  want  love,  free  and  fearless,  that  adapts  it 
self  to  changing  human  nature  as  the  colour  of  the 
sea  adapts  itself  to  the  colour  of  the  sky  ;  love  that 
does  not  have  to  be  cajoled  and  persuaded  lest  it  be 
not  there  when  I  most  need  it.  I  want  the  love  that 
loves." 

"  You  know  you  have  it."  She  had  been  compelled 
by  his  mood  and  was  herself  in  a  fever.  She  looked 
at  him  with  the  expression  which  used  to  make  his 
nerves  vibrate.  "  You  know  that  no  human  being 
ever  was  more  to  another  than  I  to  you.  But  you 
can't  expect  me  to  be  just  the  same  as  you  are.  I  love 
you — not  the  false,  base  creature  you  picture.  I  ad 
mire  the  way  you  love,  but  I  could  not  love  in  that 
way.  Thank  God,  my  love,  my  dear — I  shall  never 
be  put  to  that  test.  For  my  love  for  you  is  my — my 
all." 

"  We  are  very  serious  about  a  mere   supposition." 


"MR.  VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH."         271 

Howard  was  laughing,  but  not  naturally.  "  We  take 
each  the  other  far  too  seriously.  I'm  sorry  you  ideal 
ise  me  so.  Who  knows — you  might  find  me  out  some 
day — and  then — well,  don't  blame  me." 

Marian  said  no  more,  but  late  that  evening  she  put 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  said  :  "  You're  not 
hiding  something  from  me — something  we  ought  to 
bear  together  ?  " 

"  Not  I."  Howard  smiled  down  into  her  eyes  and 
kissed  her. 

His  mood  of  reaction,  of  hysteria  had  passed.  He 
was  thinking  how  little  in  reality  she  had  had  to  do 
with  his  outburst.  He  had  not  been  addressing  her 
at  all,  except  as  she  seemed  to  him  for  the  moment 
the  embodiment  of  his  self-respect — or  rather,  of  an 
"  absurd,"  "  extremely  youthful  "  ideal  of  self-respect 
which  he  had  "  outgrown." 


XXV. 

THE  PROMISED   LAND. 

A  WOMAN  with  a  powerful  personality  may  absorb 
in  herself  a  man  of  strong  and  resolute  ambition,  may 
compel  him  to  make  her  his  career,  to  feel  that  to  get 
and  to  keep  her  is  all  that  he  asks  from  destiny.  But 
Marian  was  not  such  a  woman. 

She  had  come  into  Howard's  life  at  just  the  time 
and  in  just  the  way  to  arouse  his  latent  passion  for 
power  and  to  give  it  a  sufficient  initial  impetus.  It 
was  love  for  her  that  set  him  to  lifting  himself  from 
among  those  who  work  through  themselves  alone  to 
the  potent  few  who  work  chiefly  by  directing  the 
labour  of  others. 

Once  in  this  class,  once  having  tasted  the  joy  of 
power,  Howard  was  lost  to  her.  She  was  unable  to 
restrain  or  direct,  or  even  clearly  to  understand.  She 
became  an  incident  in  his  life.  As  riches  came  with 
power,  they  pushed  him  to  one  side  in  her  life.  Liv 
ing  in  separate  parts  of  a  large  house,  leading  separate 
lives,  rarely  meeting  except  when  others  were  present 
— following  the  typical  life  of  New  Yorkers  of  fortune 
and  fashion — they  gradually  grew  to  know  little  and 
see  little  and  think  little  each  of  the  other. 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  273 

There  was  no  abruptness  in  the  transition.  Every 
day  had  contributed  its  little  toward  widening  the 
gap.  There  was  no  coolness,  no  consciousness  of  sepa 
ration  ;  simply  the  slow  formation  of  the  habit  of 
complete  independence  each  of  the  other. 

His  ambitions  absorbed  his  thought  and  his  time. 
To  them  he  found  her  very  useful.  The  social  side 
— forming  and  keeping  up  friendly  relations  with  the 
families  whose  heads  were  men  of  influence — was  a 
vital  part  of  his  plan.  But  he  used  her  just  as  he  used 
every  and  any  one  else  whom  he  found  capable  of 
contributing  to  his  advancement;  and,  as  she  never  in- 
sisted  upon  herself,  never  sought  to  influence  or  even 
to  inquire  into  his  course  of  action,  she  did  not  find 
him  out. 

She  was  in  a  vague  way  an  unhappy  woman.  A 
discontent,  a  feeling  that  her  life  was  incomplete,  per 
petually  teased  her.  He  was  distinctly  unhappy,  often 
gloomy,  at  times  morose.  In  her  rare  analytic  moods 
she  attributed  their  failure  to  prolong  the  happiness 
of  their  courtship  to  the  hard  work  which  kept  him 
from  her,  kept  them  from  enjoying  the  great  love  which 
she  assumed  they  felt  each  for  the  other.  She  would 
not  and  could  not  see  that  that  love  had  long  disap 
peared,  leaving  a  mask  of  forms,  of  phrases  and  of  im 
pulses  of  passion  to  conceal  its  departure.  And  to  this 
view  he  outwardly  assented,  when  she  suggested  it ; 


274  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

but  he  knew  that  she  was  deceiving  herself  as  to  him, 
and  wondered  if  she  were  not  deceiving  herself  as  to 
her  own  feelings. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  "  Coal  Conspiracy "  and 
his  attempt  to  put  himself  straight  with  her,  the  idea 
of  his  love  for  her  and  of  her  oneness  with  him  had 
at  least  a  hold  upon  his  imagination.  He  then  saw 
how  far  apart  they  had  drifted  ;  and  he  dismissed  from 
his  mind  even  the  pretense  that  love  played  any  part 
in  his  life.  After  that  definite  break  with  principle 
and  self-respect  for  the  sake  of  his  coal  holdings, 
his  Wall  Street  friends  and  his  newspaper  career, 
the  development  of  his  character  continued  along 
strictly  logical  lines  with  accelerating  speed.  And  it 
was  accompanied  by  an  ever  franker,  more  cynical 
acceptance  of  the  change. 

He  could  not  deceive  himself,  nor  can  any  man 
with  the  clearness  of  judgment  necessary  to  great 
achievement — although  many  "  successful "  men,  for 
obvious  reasons  of  self-interest,  diligently  encourage 
the  popular  theory  of  warped  conscience.  He  was 
well  aware  that  he  had  shifted  from  the  ideal  of  use 
to  his  fellow-beings  to  the  ideal  of  use  of  his  fellow- 
beings,  from  the  ideal  of  character  to  the  ideal  of 
reputation.  And  he  knew  that  the  two  ideals  can  not 
be  combined  and  that  he  not  only  was  not  attempting 
to  combine  them  but  had  no  desire  so  to  do.  He 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  275 

despised  his  former  ideals ;  but  also  he  despised  him 
self  for  despising  them. 

His  quarrel  with  himself  was  that  he  seemed 
to  himself  a  rather  vulgar  sort  of  hypocrite.  This 
was  highly  disagreeable  to  him,  as  his  whole  nature 
tended  to  make  him  wish  to  be  himself,  to  make 
him  shrink  from  the  part  of  the  truckler  and  the 
sycophant  which  he  was  playing  so  haughtily  and  so 
artistically.  At  times  it  exasperated  him  that  he  could 
not  regard  his  change  of  front  as  a  deliberate  sale  for 
value  received,  and  not  as  the  weak  and  cowardly 
surrender  which  he  saw  that  it  really  was. 


On  the  day  after  Howard's  forty-fourth  birthday 
Coulter  fell  dead  at  the  entrance  to  the  Union  Club. 
When  Stokely  heard  of  it  he  went  direct  to  the 
News-Record  office. 

"  I  happen  to  know  something  about  Coulter's  will," 
he  said  to  Howard.  ''The  News-Record  stock  is  to 
be  sold  and  you  and  I  are  to  have  the  first  chance  to 
take  it  at  three  hundred  and  fifty — which  is  certainly 
cheap  enough." 

"Why  did  he  arrange  to  dispose  of  the  most 
valuable  part  of  his  estate  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  had  an  agreement  about  it.  Then,  too, 
Coulter  had  no  faith  in  newspapers  as  a  permanent 


276  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

investment.  You  know  there  are  only  the  widow, 
the  girl  and  that  worthless  boy.  Heavens,  what  an 
ass  that  boy  is!  Coulter  has  tied  up  his  estate  until 
the  youngest  grandchild  comes  of  age.  He  hopes 
that  there  will  be  a  son  among  the  grandchildren  who 
will  realise  his  dream." 

"Dream?"  Howard  smiled.  "I  didn't  know  that 
Coulter  ever  indulged  in  dreams." 

"Yes,  he  had  the  rich  man's  mania — the  craze  for 
founding  a  family.  So  everything  is  to  be  put  into 
real  estate  and  long-term  bonds.  And  for  years 
New  York  is  to  be  reminded  of  Samuel  Coulter  by 
some  incapable  who'll  use  his  name  and  his  money 
to  advertise  nature's  contempt  for  family  pride  in 
her  distributions  of  brains.  I  think  even  a  fine  tomb 
is  a  wiser  memorial." 

"Well,  how  much  of  the  stock  shall  you  take? " 
Howard  asked. 

"  Not  a  share,"  Stokely  replied  dejectedly.  "  Coulter 
couldn't  have  died  at  a  worse  time  for  me.  I'm  tied 
in  every  direction  and  shall  be  for  a  year  at  least. 
So  you've  got  a  chance  to  become  controlling  owner." 

"I?"  Howard  laughed.  "Where  could  I  get  a 
million  and  a  half  ?  " 

"How  much  could  you  take  in  cash?" 

"Well — let  me  see — perhaps — five  hundred  thou 
sand." 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  277 

"You  can  borrow  the  million  with  the  stock  as 
collateral." 

"But  how  could  I  pay?" 

"  Why,  your  dividends  at  our  present  rate  would  be 
more  than  two  hundred  thousand  a  year.  Your 
interest  charge  would  be  under  seventy-five  thousand. 
Perhaps  I  can  arrange  it  so  that  it  won't  be  more 
than  fifty  thousand.  You  can  let  the  balance  go  on 
reducing  the  loan.  Then  I  may  be  able  to  put  you 
onto  a  few  good  things.  At  any  rate  you  can't  lose 
anything.  Your  stock  would  bring  five  hundred  even 
at  forced  sale.  It's  your  chance,  old  man.  I  want 
to  see  you  take  it." 

"  I'll  think  it  over.     I  have  no  head  for  figures." 

"  Let  me  manage  it  for  you."  Stokely  rose  to  go. 
Howard  began  thanking  him,  but  he  cut  Him  off  with  : 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks.  You've  made  money  for 
me — big  money.  I  owe  you  my  help.  Besides,  I 
don't  want  any  outsider  in  here.  Let  me  know  when 
you're  ready."  He  nodded  and  was  gone. 

"  What  a  chance  !  "  Howard  repeated  again  and 
again. 

He  was  looking  out  over  New  York. 

Twenty  years  before  he  had  faced  it,  asking  of  it 
nothing  but  a  living  and  his  freedom.  For  twenty 
years  he  had  fought.  Year  by  year,  even  when  he 
seemed  to  be  standing  still  or  going  backward,  he  had 


278  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

steadily  gained,  making  each  step  won  a  vantage- 
ground  for  forward  attack.  And  now — victory. 
Power,  wealth,  fame,  all  his  ! 

Yet  a  deep  melancholy  came  over  him.  And  he  fell 
to  despising  himself  for  the  kind  of  exultation  that 
rilled  him,  its  selfishness,  its  sordidness,  the  absence  of 
all  high  enthusiasm.  Why  was  he  denied  the  happi 
ness  of  self-deception  ?  Why  could  he  not  forget 
the  means,  blot  it  out,  now  that  the  end  was  attained  ? 

His  mind  went  out,  not  to  Marian,  but  to  that 
other — the  one  sleeping  under  the  many,  many  layers 
of  autumn  leaves  at  Asheville.  And  he  heard  a  voice 
saying  so  faintly,  so  timidly  :  "  I  lay  awake  night 
after  night  listening  to  your  breathing,  and  whisper 
ing  under  my  breath,  'I  love  you,  I  love  you.  Why 
can't  you  love  me  ?  ' '  And  then — he  flung  down  the 
cover  of  his  desk  and  rushed  away  home. 

"Why  did  I  think  of  Alice?"  he  asked  himself. 
And  the  answer  came — because  in  those  days,  in  the 
days  of  his  youth,  he  had  had  beliefs,  high  principles  ; 
ne  had  been  incapable  of  this  slavery  to  appearances,  to 
vain  show,  incapable  of  this  passion  for  reputation 
regardless  of  character.  His  weaknesses  were  then 
weaknesses  only,  and  not,  as  now,  the  laws  of  his  being 
controlling  his  every  act. 

He  smiled  cynically  at  the  self  of  such  a  few  years 
ago — yet  he  could  not  meet  those  honest,  fearless  eyes 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  279 

that  looked  out  at  him  from  the  mirror  of  mem 
ory. 

He  was  triumphant,  but  self-respect  had  gone  and 
not  all  the  thick  swathings  of  vanity  covered  him  from 
the  stabs  of  self-contempt. 

"  When  I  am  really  free,  when  the  paper  is  paid  for 
and  I  can  do  as  I  please,  why  not  try  to  be  a  man 
again  ?  Why  not  ?  It  would  cost  me  nothing." 

But  a  man  is  the  sum  of  all  his  past. 


XXVI. 

IN  POSSESSION. 

STOKELY  arranged  the  loan,  and  within  six  months 
Howard  was  controlling  owner  of  the  News-Record. 
There  was  a  debt  of  a  million  and  a  quarter  attached 
to  his  ownership,  but  he  saw  how  that  would  be  wiped 
out.  Once  more  he  threw  himself  into  his  work  with 
the  energy  of  a  boy.  He  had  to  give  much  of  his 
time  to  the  business  department — to  the  details  of 
circulation  and  advertising.  He  felt  that  the  profits 
of  the  paper  could  be  greatly  increased  by  improving 
its  facilities  for  reaching  the  advertiser  and  the  public. 
He  had  never  been  satisfied  with  the  circulation 
methods ;  but  theretofore  his  ignorance  of  business 
and  his  position  as  mere  salaried  editor  had  acted  in 
restraint  upon  his  interference  with  the  "  ground 
floor." 

As  he  had  suspected,  the  business  office  was  afflicted 
with  the  twin  diseases — routine  and  imitativeness.  It 
followed  an  old  system,  devised  in  days  of  small  circu 
lation  and  grudgingly  improved,  not  by  thought  on 
the  part  of  those  who  circulated  the  paper,  but  by 
compulsion  on  the  part  of  the  public.  No  attempts 


IN  POSSESSION.  281 

were  made  to  originate  schemes  for  advertising  the 
paper.  The  only  methods  were  wooden  variations  up 
on  placards  in  the  street  cars  and  the  elevated  stations, 
and  cards  hung  up  at  the  news-stands.  As  forgetting 
advertising  business,  they  thought  they  showed  enter 
prise  by  a  little  canvassing  among  the  conspicuous 
merchants  in  Greater  New  York. 

Howard  had  charts  made  showing  the  circulation  by 
districts.  With  these  as  a  basis  he  ordered  an 
elaborate  campaign  to  "  push  "  the  paper  in  the  districts 
where  it  was  circulated  least  and  to  increase  its  hold 
where  it  was  strong.  "  We  do  not  reach  one-third  of 
the  people  who  would  like  to  take  our  paper,"  he  told 
Jowett,  the  business  manager.  "  Let  us  have  an  army 
of  agents  and  let  us  take  up  our  territory  by  districts." 

The  Sunday  edition  was  the  largest  source  of 
revenue,  both  because  it  carried  a  great  deal  more  ad 
vertising  at  much  higher  rates  than  did  the  week-day 
editions,  and  because  it  sold  at  a  price  which  yielded  a 
profit  on  the  paper  itself,  while  the  price  of  the  week 
day  editions  did  not.  News  constituted  less  than  one- 
fourth  of  its  contents.  The  rest  was  "  feature  articles," 
as  interesting  a  week  late  to  a  man  in  Seattle  as  on 
the  day  of  publication  within  a  mile  of  the  office. 

"  We  get  out  the  very  best  magazine  in  the  market," 
said  Howard  to  Jowett.  "  Are  we  pushing  it  in  the 
east,  in  the  west,  in  the  south  ?  Look  at  the  charts. 


282  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

We  have  a  Sunday  circulation  of  five  hundred  in 
Oregon,  of  one  thousand  in  Texas,  of  six  hundred  in 
Georgia,  of  two  thousand  in  Maine.  Why  not  ten 
times  as  much  in  each  of  those  states?  Why  not  ten 
times  as  much  as  we  now  have  near  New  York  ?  " 

There  was  no  reason  except  failure  to  "  push  "  the 
paper.  That  reason  Howard  proceeded  to  remove. 
But  these  enterprises  involved  large  expenditures, 
perhaps  might  mean  postponement  of  the  payment  of 
the  debt.  Receipts  must  be  increased  and  the  most 
promising  way  was  an  increase  in  the  advertising 
business. 

Howard  noted  on  the  chart  nineteen  cities  and 
large  towns  near  New  York  in  each  of  which  the 
daily  circulation  of  the  Neivs-Record  was  equal  to  that 
of  any  paper  published  there  and  far  exceeded  the  com 
bined  circulations  of  all  the  home  dailies  on  Sunday. 
This  suggested  a  system  of  local  advertising  pages, 
and  for  its  working  out  he  engaged  one  of  the  most 
capable  newspaper  advertising  men  in  the  city. 
Within  three  months  the  idea  had  "  caught  on  "  and, 
instead  of  sending  useless  columns  of  New  York 
"  want-ads  *'  and  the  like  to  places  where  they  could 
not  be  useful,  the  News-Record  was  presenting  to  its 
readers  in  twelve  cities  and  towns  the  advertisements 
of  their  local  merchants, 

A   year   of  this   work,  with    Howard   giving   many 


IN  POSSESSION.  283 

hours  of  each  day  personally  to  tiresome  details, 
brought  the  natural  results.  The  profits  of  the 
News-Record  had  risen  to  five  hundred  and  forty  thou 
sand,  of  which  Howard's  share  was  nearly  three  hundred 
thousand.  The  next  year  the  profits  were  seven  hun 
dred  and  fifty  thousand,  and  Howard  had  reduced  his 
debt  to  eight  hundred  thousand. 

"  We  shall  be  free  and  clear  in  less  than  three 
years,"  he  said  to  Marian. 

"  If  we  have  luck,"  she  added. 

"  No — if  we  work — and  we  shall.  Luck  is  a  stone 
which  envy  flings  at  success." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  you  have  been  lucky?  " 

"Indeed  I  do  not." 

"  Not  even,"  she  smiled,  drawing  herself  up. 

"  Not  even — "  he  said  with  a  faint,  sad  answering 
smile.  "  If  you  only  knew  how  hard  I  worked  pre 
paring  myself  to  be  able  to  get  you  when  you  came  ; 
if  you  only,  only  knew  how  life  made  me  pay,  pay, 
pay  ;  if  you  only  knew " 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  coming  closer  to  him. 

He  sighed — not  for  the  reason  of  sentiment  which 
she  fancied,  though  he  put  his  arms  around  her. 
"  How  willingly  I  paid,"  he  evaded. 

He  went  to  his  desk  and  she  stood  looking  at  him. 
There  was  still  the  charm  of  youth,  even  freshness,  in 
her  beauty — and  she  was  not  unconscious  of  the  fact. 


284  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

And  he — he  was  handsome,  distinguished  looking  and 
certainly  did  not  suggest  age  or  the  approach  of  age  ; 
but  in  his  hair,  so  grey  at  the  temples,  in  the  stern, 
rather  haughty  lines  of  his  features,  in  the  weariness 
of  his  eyes,  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  youth.  "  How 
he  has  worked  for  me  and  for  his  ideals,"  she  thought, 
sadly  yet  proudly.  "  Ah,  he  is  indeed  a  great  man, 
and  my  husband ! "  And  she  bent  over  him  and 
kissed  him  on  an  impulse  to  a  kind  of  tenderness 
which  was  now  so  strange  to  her  that  it  made  her  feel 
shy. 

"  And  what  a  radical  you'll  be,"  she  laughed,  after 
a  moment's  silence.  "  What  a  radical,  what  a  dem 
ocrat  !  " 

"When?"  He  was  flushing  a  little  and  avoided 
her  eyes. 

"  When  you're  free — really  the  proprietor — able  to 
express  your  own  views,  all  your  own  views.  We 
shall  become  outcasts." 

"  I  wonder,"  he  replied  slowly,  "  does  a  rich  man 
own  his  property  or  does  it  own  him?" 

For  an  instant  he  had  an  impulse  of  his  old  longing 
for  sympathy,  for  companionship.  She  was  now 
thirty-six  and,  save  for  an  expression  of  experience,  of 
self-control,  seemed  hardly  so  much  as  thirty.  But 
with  the  years,  with  the  habit  of  self-restraint,  with 
instinctive  rather  than  conscious  realisation  of  his 


IN  POSSESSION.  285 

indifference  toward  her,  had  come  a  chill  percepti 
ble  at  the  surface  and  permeating  her  entire  character. 
In  her  own  way  she  had  become  as  self-absorbed,  as 
ambitious  as  he. 

He  looked  at  her,  felt  this  chill,  sighed,  smiled  at 
himself.  Yes,  he  was  alone — and  he  preferred  to  be 
alone. 


XXVII. 

THE   HARVEST. 

THROUGH  all  his  scheming  and  shifting  Howard  had 
kept  the  News-Record  in  the  main  an  "  organ  of  the 
people."  Coulter  and  Stokely  had  on  many  occasions 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  change,  but  he  had  stood  out. 
He  did  not  confess  to  them  that  his  real  reason  was 
not  his  alleged  principles  but  his  cold  judgment  that 
the  increases  in  circulation  which  produced  increases 
in  advertising  patronage  were  dependent  upon  the 
paper's  reputation  of  fearless  democracy. 

In  the  fourth  year  of  his  ownership  he  felt  that  the 
time  had  come  for  the  change,  that  he  could  safely 
slip  over  to  the  other  side — the  side  of  wealth  and 
power,  the  winning  side,  the  side  with  offices  and 
privileges  to  distribute.  His  debt  was  so  far  reduced 
that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  it.  A  presidential 
campaign  was  coming  on  and  was  causing  unusual 
confusion,  a  general  shift  of  party  lines.  And  he  had 
put  the  News-Record  in  such  a  position  that  it  could 
move  in  any  direction  without  shock  to  its  readers. 

The  "  great  battle  "  was  on— the  battle  he  had  in 
his  younger  days  looked  forward  to  and  longed  for — 


THE  HARVEST.  287 

the  battle  against  Privilege  and  for  a  "  restoration  of 
government  by  the  people."  The  candidates  were 
nominated,  the  platforms  put  forward  and  the  issue 
squarely  joined. 

The  same  issue  had  been  involved  in  previous  cam 
paigns  ;  but  the  statement  of  the  case  by  the  party 
opposed  to  "  government  of,  by  and  for  plutocracy  " 
had  been  fantastic,  extreme,  entangled  with  social, 
economic  and  political  lunacies.  And  Howard  had 
strengthened  the  News-Record  by  refusing  to  permit  it 
to  "  go  crazy."  Now,  however,  there  was  in  honesty 
no  reason  for  refusing  support  to  the  advocates  of  his 
professed  principles. 

But  the  News-Record  was  silent.  Howard  and 
Marian  went  away  to  their  cottage  at  Newport,  and  he 
left  rigid  instructions  that  no  political  editorials  were 
to  be  published  except  those  which  he  might  send. 
There  he  got  typhoid  fever  and  was  at  the  point  of 
death  for  two  weeks. 

Marian  gave  herself  to  nursing  him,  stayed  close  be 
side  him,  read  books  and  the  newspapers  to  him 
throughout  his  convalescence.  They  were  more  in 
timate  than  they  had  been  for  years.  A  feeling  bear 
ing  a  remote  resemblance  to  the  love  he  had  once  had 
for  her  arose  out  of  his  weakness  and  dependence  and 
his  seclusion  from  the  instruments  and  objects  of  his 
ambition.  And  she  swept  aside  the  barriers  she  had 


288  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

erected  between  herself  and  him  and  returned,  as 
nearly  as  one  may,  to  the  love  and  interest  of  their 
early  days  together. 

In  the  first  week  of  September  came  Stokely  with 
Senator  Hereford,  the  chairman  of  the  "  Plutocracy  " 
campaign  committee. 

"  I  shall  not  annoy  you  with  evasions,"  said  Here 
ford,  "as  Mr.  Stokely  assures  me  that  I  may  speak 
freely  to  you,  that  you  personally  are  with  us.  The 
fact  is,  our  campaign  is  in  a  bad  way,  especially  in 
New  York  State,  and  there  especially  in  New  York 
City." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Howard.  "All  my  in 
formation  has  come  from  the  newspapers  which  my 
wife  reads  me.  I  had  gathered  that  the  victory  was 
all  but  won." 

"  We  encourage  that  impression.  You  know  how 
many  weak-kneed  fellows  there  are  who  like  to  be  on 
the  winning  side.  We've  been  pouring  out  the  money 
and  stand  ready  to  pour  it  out  like  water.  But  these 
damned  reform  ballot-laws  make  it  hard  for  us  to  con 
trol  the  vote.  We  buy,  but  we  fear  that  the  goods 
will  not  be  delivered.  Feeling  is  high  against  us. 
Even  our  farmers  and  shopkeepers  are  acting  queerly. 
And  the  other  fellows  have  at  last  put  up  a  safe  man 
on  a  conservative  platform." 

Howard  turned  his  face  away.     There  was  still  the 


THE  HARVEST.  289 

memory,  the  now  quickened  memory,  of  his  former 
self  to  make  him  wince  at  being  included  in  such  an 


us." 


"You  can't  afford  to  keep  silent  any  longer,"  Here 
ford  continued.  "  You've  done  the  cause  a  world  of 
good  by  your  silence  thus  far.  You  have  the  reputa 
tion  of  being  the  leading  popular  organ,  and  your 
keeping  quiet  has  meant  thousands  of  votes  for  us. 
But  the  time  has  come  to  attack.  And  you  must  at 
tack  if  we  are  to  carry  New  York.  You  can  turn  the 
tide  in  the  state,  and — well,  we  have  a  very  high  re 
gard  for  your  genius  for  making  your  points  clearly 
and  interestingly.  We  need  your  ideas  for  our  editors 
and  speakers  as  much  as  we  need  your  influence." 

"  I  cannot  discuss  it  to-day,"  Howard  answered 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  It  would  be  a  grave  step 
for  the  News-Record  to  take.  I  am  not  well,  as  you 
see.  To-morrow  or  next  day  I'll  decide.  You'll  see 
my  answer  in  the  paper,  I  think."  He  closed  his  eyes 
with  significant  weariness. 

Hereford  looked  at  him  uneasily.  Just  outside  the 
door  Stokely  whispered,  "  Don't  be  alarmed.  You've 
got  him.  He's  with  us,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  must  make  sure,"  whispered  Hereford.  "  I 
wish  to  speak  to  him  alone  for  a  moment." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Howard,"  he  said  as  he  re- 
entered  the  room.  "  I  forgot  an  important  part  of  my 


290  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

mission.  Our  candidate  authorized  me  to  say  to  you 
on  his  behalf  that  he  felt  sure  you  would  see  your 
duty ;  that  he  esteemed  your  character  and  judgment 
too  highly  to  have  any  doubts ;  and  that  he  intends 
to  show  his  appreciation  of  the  conscientious,  inde 
pendent  vote  which  is  rallying  to  his  support ;  in  the 
event  of  his  election,  he  feels  that  he  could  not  do  so 
in  a  more  satisfactory  manner  than  by  offering  you 
either  a  place  in  his  cabinet  or  an  ambassadorship  as 
you  may  prefer." 

As  soon  as  Howard  saw  Hereford  returning,  he 
knew  the  reason.  He  had  never  before  been  offered 
a  bribe ;  but  he  could  not  mistake  the  meaning  of 
Hereford's  bold  yet  frightened  expression.  He  kept 
his  eyes  averted  during  the  delivery  of  the  long,  ram 
bling  sentence.  At  the  end,  he  looked  at  Hereford 
frankly  and  said  in  his  most  gracious  manner : 

"  Thank  him  for  me,  will  you  ?  And  express  my 
appreciation  of  so  high  a  compliment  from  such  a 
man." 

Hereford  looked  relieved,  delighted.  "  I'm  glad  to 
have  met  you,  Mr.  Howard,  and  to  have  had  so  satis 
factory  an  interview." 

Again  outside  the  door,  he  muttered  gleefully : 
"Yes,  we've  him.  Otherwise  he  would  have  had 

his  servants  kick  me  down  stairs.  Gad,  no  wonder 

is  on  his  way  to  the  Presidency.  I  had  a  sneaking 


THE  HARVEST.  291 

fear  that  this  fellow  might  be  sincere.  But  he  saw 
through  him  without  ever  having  seen  him.  I  sup 
pose  two  men  of  that  stripe  instinctively  understand 
each  other." 


That  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  On  the  following 
Wednesday,  as  Marian  came  into  Howard's  sitting. 
room  with  the  newspapers,  she  laughed  :  "  I've  been 
reading  such  a  speech  from  your  candidate,  you  radi 
cal  !  I  must  say  I  liked  to  read  it.  It  was  so  like 
you,  your  very  phrases  in  many  places,  the  things  you 
used  to  talk  to  me  before  you  gave  me  up  as  hopeless. 
Just  listen." 

And  she  read  him  the  oration  —  a  reproduction  of 
the  Howard  she  first  saw,  the  Howard  she  admired 
and  loved  and  had  never  lost.  "  Isn't  it  superb?  "  she 
asked  at  the  end.  "  You  must  have  written  it  for 
him.  Don't  you  like  it?" 

"Very  able,"  was  Howard's  only  comment. 

Marian  continued  to  read  the  paper,  glancing  from 
column  to  column,  giving  him  the  substance  of  the 
news.  Soon  she  reached  the  editorial  page.  He  was 
stealthily  watching  her  face.  He  saw  her  glance 
through  a  few  lines  of  the  leader,  start,  read  on,  look 
in  a  terrified  way  at  him,  and  then  skip  abruptly  to 
the  next  page. 

"  Read  me  the  leader,  won't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 


292  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

"  My  voice  is  tired,"  she  pleaded.  "  I'll  read  it  after 
awhile." 

"Please,"  he  insisted.  "I'm  especially  anxious  to 
hear  it." 

"  I  think,"  she  almost  stammered,  "  that  somebody 
has  taken  advantage  of  your  illness.  I  didn't  want  to 
tell  you  until  I'd  had  a  chance  to  think." 

"  Please  read  it."  His  tone  was  abrupt.  She  had 
never  heard  that  tone  before. 

She  read.  It  was  an  assertion  of  that  which  her 
Howard  most  disbelieved,  most  protested  against ;  a 
defense  of  the  public  corruption  she  had  heard  him 
denounce  so  often  ;  an  attack  upon  the  ideas,  the 
principles,  the  elements  she  had  so  often  heard  him 
eulogize.  It  was  as  adroit  as  it  was  detestable,  as 
plausible  as  it  was  unprincipled. 

When  she  had  done,  there  was  a  long  silence  which 
he  broke.  "  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Only  a  wretch,  an  enemy  of  yours  could  have 
written  it.  Who  can  it  have  been  ?  "  Her  eyes  were 
ablaze  and  her  voice  trembled  with  anger. 

"  I  wrote  it,"  he  said. 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then,  with  a  flimsy  mask  of  pretended  calmness 
only  the  more  clearly  revealing  self-contempt  and 
cowardice,  he  faced  her  amazed  eyes,  her  pale  cheeks, 
her  parted  lips — and  dropped  his  gaze  to  the  floor. 


THE  HARVEST.  293 

"  You  ?  "  she  whispered.     "  You  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I." 

She  sat  so  still  that  he  reached  over  and  touched 
her  hand.  It  was  cold.  She  shivered  and  drew  it 
away.  They  were  silent  for  a  long  time — several 
minutes.  She  was  looking  at  his  face.  It  was  old 
and  sad  and  feeble — pitiful,  contemptible.  She  had 
never  seen  those  lines  of  weakness  about  his  mouth 
before.  She  had  never  before  noted  that  his  fea 
tures  had  lost  the  expression  of  exalted  character, 
the  light  of  free  and  independent  manhood  which 
made  her  look  again  the  first  time  she  saw  him. 
When  had  the  man  she  loved  departed  ?  When  had 
the  new  man  come  ?  How  long  had  she  been  giving 
herself  to  a  stranger — and  such  a  stranger? 

"Yes — I,"  he  repeated.  "I  have  come  over  to 
your  side."  He  laughed  and  she  shivered  again. 
"Well— what  do  you  think?" 

"Think?— I  ?— Oh,  I  think " 

She  burst  into  tears,  flung  herself  down  at  his  feet 
and  buried  her  head  in  his  lap. 

"I  think  nothing,"  she  sobbed,  "  except  that  I— I 
love  you." 

He  fell  to  smoothing  her  hair,  slowly,  gently, 
patronisingly.  His  face  was  composed  and  he  was 
looking  down  at  her  trembling  head  and  agitated 
shoulders  with  an  absent-minded  smile.  How  easily 


294  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

this  once  dreaded  crisis  had  passed  !  How  he  had 
overestimated  her  !  How  he  had  underestimated  him 
self  ! 

His  glance  and  his  thoughts  soon  fastened  upon  the 
copy  of  his  newspaper  which  she  had  thrown  aside — • 
his  newspaper  indeed,  his  creation  and  his  creature, 
the  epitome  of  his  intellect  and  character,  of  his 
strength  and  his  weakness.  Half  a  million  circulation 
daily,  three  quarters  of  a  million  on  Sunday — how 
mighty  as  a  direct  influence  upon  the  people  !  Its 
clearness  and  vigour,  its  intelligence,  its  truth-like 
sophistry — how  mighty  as  an  indirect  influence  upon 
the  minds  of  other  editors  and  of  public  men  !  "  Power 
— Success,"  he  repeated  to  himself  in  an  exaltation  of 
vanity  and  arrogance. 

Marian  lifted  her  head  and,  turning,  put  it  against 
his  knee.  She  reached  out  for  his  hand.  He  began 
to  speak  at  once  in  a  low  persuasive  voice  : 

"Trust  me,  dear,  can't  you?  You  do  not — have 
not  been  reading  the  paper  until  recently.  You  are 
not  interested  in  politics.  There  have  been  many 
changes  in  the  few  last  years.  And  I  too  have  changed. 
I  am  no  longer  without  responsibilities.  They  have 
sobered  me,  have  given  me  an  appreciation  of  property, 
stability,  conservatism.  Youth  is  enthusiastic,  theo 
retical.  I  have " 

"Ah,  but  I  do  trust  you,"   she  interrupted   eagerly, 


THE  HARVEST.  295 

/earful  lest  his   explanations  would   make  it  the  more 
difficult  for  her  to  convince  herself  of   what    she    felt 
she  must  believe  if  life  were  to  go  on.     "  And  you — I 
don't  want  you  to  excite  yourself.     You  must  be  quiet ; 
— must  get  well." 

Each  avoided  meeting  the  other's  eyes  as  she 
arranged  the  pillows  for  him  before  leaving  him  alone 
to  rest. 

The  longer  she  juggled  with  her  discovery  the  less 
appalling  it  seemed.  His  line  of  action  fitted  too 
closely  to  her  own  ambitions  of  social  distinction, 
social  leadership.  If  he  had  been  her  lover,  the  shock 
would  have  killed  love  and  set  up  contempt  in  its  stead. 
But  he  was  not  her  lover,  had  not  been  for  years  ; 
and  to  find  that  her  husband  was  doing  a  husband's 
duty,  was  winning  position  and  power  for  himself  and 
therefore  for  his  wife — that  was  a  disclosure  with 
mitigating  aspects  at  least.  Besides,  might  she  not  be 
in  part  mistaken  ?  Surely  any  course  so  satisfactory 
in  its  results  could  not  be  wholly  wrong,  might  perhaps 
be  the  right  in  an  unexpected,  unaccustomed  form. 


XXVIII. 

SUCCESS. 

FRENCH  had  made  a  portrait  of  the  new  American 
ambassador  to  the  Court  of  St.  James  and  it  was 
shown  at  the  spring  exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy. 
The  ambassador  and  his  wife  wished  to  see  how  it  had 
been  hung,  but  they  did  not  wish  to  be  seen.  So  they 
chose  an  early  hour  of  a  chill,  rainy  May  morning  to 
drive  in  a  hansom  from  their  place  in  Park  Lane  to 
Burlington  House. 

They  found  the  portrait  in  Room  VI,  on  the  line,  in 
a  corner,  but  where  it  had  the  benefit  of  such  light  as 
there  was.  When  they  entered  no  one  was  there  ; 
but,  as  they  were  standing  close  to  the  picture, 
admiring  the  energy  and  simplicity  of  the  strokes  of 
the  master's  brush,  a  crowd  swept  in  and  enclosed  them. 

"  Let  us  go,"  Howard  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Just  then  a  man,  almost  at  his  shoulder  because  of 
the  pressure  of  those  behind,  said  :  "  Wonderful,  isn't 
it  ?  I've  never  seen  a  better  example  of  his  work.  He 
had  a  subject  that  suited  him  perfectly/' 

"  No,  let  us  stay,"  Marian  whispered  in  reply  to  her 


SUCCESS.  297 

husband.  "  They  can't  see  our  faces  and  I'd  like  to 
hear.0 

"  Yes,  it  is  superb/'  came  the  answer  to  the  man 
behind  them  in  a  voice  unmistakably  American. 
"  Now,  tell  me,  Saverhill,  what  sort  of  a  person  would 
you  say  the  ambassador  is  from  that  picture  ?  You 
don't  know  him?  " 

"  Never  heard  of  him  until  I  read  of  his  appoint 
ment,"  replied  the  first  voice. 

"  I've  heard  of  him  often  enough,"  came  in  the 
American  voice.  "  But  I've  never  seen  him." 

"You  know  him  now,"  resumed  the  Englishman, 
"  inside  as  well  as  out.  French  always  paints  what  he 
sees  and  always  sees  what  he's  painting." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go,"  whispered  Marian.  But  Howard  did 
not  heed  her. 

"  I  see — a  fallen  man.  He  was  evidently  a  real  man 
once  ;  but  he  sold  himself." 

"  Yes  ?     Where  does  it  show  ?  " 

"  He's  got  a  good  mind,  this  fellow-countryman  of 
yours.  There  are  the  eyes  of  a  thinker  and  a  doer. 
Nothing  could  have  kept  him  down.  His  face  is  almost 
as  relentless  as  Kitchener's  and  fully  as  aggressive, 
except  that  it  shows  intellect,  and  Kitchener's  doesn't. 
Now  note  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  Marshall,  and  his 
mouth  and  nostrils  and  chin,  and  you'll  see  why  he 
sold  himself,  and  the — the  consequences." 


298  THE  GREAT  GOD  SUCCESS. 

Howard  and  Marian,  fascinated,  compelled,  looked 
where  the  unknown  requested. 

"  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,"  came  in  Marshall's 
voice,  laughingly.  "  But  go  on." 

"Ah,  there  it  all  is— hypocrisy,  vanity,  lack  of 
principle,  and,  plainest  of  all,  weakness.  It's  a  com 
mon  enough  type  among  your  successful  men.  The 
man  himself  is  the  fixed  market  price  for  a  certain 
kind  of  success.  But,  according  to  French,  this 
ambassador  of  yours  seems  to  know  what  he  has  paid  ; 
and  the  knowledge  doesn't  make  him  more  content 
with  his  bargain.  He  has  more  brains  than  vanity  ; 
therefore  he's  an  unhappy  hypocrite  instead  of  a  happy 
self-deceiver." 

Howard  and  Marian  shrunk  together  with  their 
heads  close  in  the  effort  to  make  sure  of  concealing 
their  faces.  She  was  suffering  for  herself,  but  more 
acutely  for  him.  She  knew,  as  if  she  were  looking 
into  his  mind,  his  frightful  humiliation.  "  Hereafter," 
she  thought,  "  whenever  any  one  looks  at  him  he  will 
feel  the  thought  behind  the  look." 

"  How  nearly  did  I  come  to  him  ?  "  asked  Saverhill. 

Howard  started  and  Marian  caught  the  rail  for 
support. 

"  A  centre-shot,"  replied  Marshall,  "  if  the  people 
who  know  him  and  have  talked  to  me  about  him  tell 
the  truth." 


SUCCESS.  299 

"  Oh,  they're  'on  to '  him,  as  you  say,  over  there, 
are  they  ?  " 

"  No,  not  everybody.  Only  his  friends  and  the  few 
who  are  on  the  inside.  There's  an  ugly  story  going 
about  privately  as  to  how  he  got  the  ambassadorship. 
They  say  he  was  bought  with  it.  But — he's  admired 
and  envied  even  by  a  good  many  who  know  or  sus 
pect  that  he's  only  an  article  of  commerce.  He's  got 
the  cash  and  he's  got  position  ;  and  his  paper  gives 
him  tremendous  power.  Then  too,  as  you  say,  all 
about  him  there  are  men  like  himself.  The  only 
punishment  he's  likely  to  get  is  the  penalty  of  having 
to  live  with  himself." 

"  A  good,  round  price  if  French  is  not  mistaken," 
replied  Saverhill. 

The  two  men  passed  on.  Howard  and  Marian 
looked  guiltily  about,  then  slipped  away  in  the  op 
posite  direction.  He  helped  her  into  the  waiting  han 
som.  As  they  were  driven  homeward  she  cast  a 
stealthy  side-glance  at  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  thought,  "  the  portrait  is  a  portrait  of 
his  face ;  and  his  face  is  a  portrait  of  himself." 

He  caught  her  glance  in  the  little  mirror  in  the  side 
of  the  hansom — caught  it  and  read  it.  And  he  began 
to  hate  her,  this  instrument  to  his  punishment,  this 
constant  remembrancer  of  his  downfall. 


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HIS   HOUR.    By  Elinor  Glyn.    Illustrated. 

A  beautiful  blonde  Englishwoman  visits  Russia,  and  is  vio 
lently  made  love  to  by  a  young  Russian  aristocrat.  A  most  unique 
situation  complicates  the  romance. 

THE    GAMBLERS.      By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur  Hornblow. 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

A  big,  vital  treatment  of  a  present  day  situation  wherein  men 
play  for  big  financial  stakes  and  women  flourish  on  the  profits — or 
repudiate  the  methods. 

CHEERFUL  AMERICANS.    By  Charles  Battell  Loomis.    Illus 
trated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn  and  others. 

A  good,  wholesome,  laughable  presentation  of  some  Americans 
at  home  and  abroad,  on  their  vacations,  and  during  their  hours  of 
relaxation. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  WORLD.    By  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

Clever,  original  presentations  of  present  day  social  problems 
and  the  best  solutions  of  them.  A  book  every  girl  and  woman 
should  possess. 

THE    LIGHT  THAT  LURES.    By  Percy  Brebner. 
Illustrated.     Handsomely  colored  wrapper. 

A  young  Southerner  who  loved  Lafayette,  goes  to  France  to 
aid  him  during  the  days  of  terror,  and  is  lured  in  a  certain  direction 
by  the  lovely  eyes  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

THE  RAMRODDERS.        By  Holman  Day.       Frontispiece  by 
Harold  Matthews  Brett. 

A  clever,  timely  story  that  will  make  politicians  think  and  will 
I  make  women  realize    the  part  that  politics  play— even  in    theii 
romances. 

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THL     SECOND     WIFE.    By  Thompson  Buchanan.  Illustrated 
by  W.  W.  Fawcett.    Harrison  Plsher  wrapper  printed  in  four 
colors  and  gold. 

An  intensely  interesting  story  of  a  marital  complication  in 
a  wealthy  New  York  family  involving  the  happiness  of  a 
beautiful  young  girl. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY.    By  Grace  Miller  White. 
Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  amazingly  vivid  picture  of  low  class  life  in  a  New 
York  college  town,  with  a  heroine  beautiful  and  noble,  who  makes 
a  great  sacrifice  for  love. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING.    By  Grace  Miller 
White. 
Frontispiece  and  wrapper  in  colors  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws. 

Another  story  of  "the  storm  country."  Two  beautiful  chil 
dren  are  kidnapped  from  a  wealthy  home  and  appear  many  years 
after  showing  the  effects  of  a  deep,  malicious  scheme  "behind 
their  disappearance. 

THE    LIGHTED    MATCH.     By  Charles  Neville  Buck.    Illus 
trated  by  R.  F.  Schabelitz. 

A  lovely  princess  travels  incognito  through  the  States  and 
falls  in  love  with  an  American  man.  There  are  ties  that  bind  her 
to  someone  in  her  own  home,  and  the  great  plot  revolves  round 
her  efforts  to  work  her  way  out. 

MAUD    BAXTER.    By  C.   C.    Hotchkiss.    Illustrated  by  Will 
Grefe. 

A  romance  both  daring  and  delightful,  involving  an  Amer 
ican  girl  and  a  young  man  who  had  been  impressed  into  English 
service  during  the  Revolution. 

THE    HIGHWAYMAN.    By  Guy   Rawlence.     Illustrated  by 
Will  Grefe. 

A  French  beauty  ot  mysterious  antecedents  wins  the  love 
of  an  Englishman  of  title.  Developments  of  a  startling  characte) 
and  a  clever  untangling  of  affairs  hold  the  reader's  iuterest.  , 

THE    PURPLE    STOCKINGS.     By  Edward  Salisbury   Field 
Illustrated  in  colors;  marginal  illustrations. 

A  young  New  York  business  man,  his  pretty  sweetheart, 
his  sentimental  stenographer,  and  his  fashionable  sister  are  all 
mixed  up  in  a  misunderstanding  that  surpasses  anything  in  the 
way  of  comedy  in  years.  A  story  with  a  laugh  on  every  page. 

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THE  SILENT  CALL.    By    Edwin    Milton   Royle.     Illustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 

The  hero  of  this  story  is  the  Squaw  Man's  son.  He  has 
been  taken  to  Emrland,  but  spurns  conventional  life  for  the  sake 
of  the  untamed  West  and  a  girl's  pretty  face. 

JOHN  MARCH,    SOUTHERNER.    By  George  W.  Cable. 

A  story  of  the  pretty  women  and  spirited  men  of  the  Soxith. 
As  fragrant  in  sentiment  as  a  sprig  of  magnolia,  and  as  full  of 
mystery  and  racial  troubles  as  any  romance  of  "after  the  war" 
days. 

MR.  JUSTICE  RAFFLES.    By  E.  W.  Hornung. 

This  engaging  rascal  is  found  helping  a  young  cricket  player 
out  of  the  toils  of  a  money  shark.  Novel  in  plot,  thrilling  and 
amusing. 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE.  By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith.  Illustrated 
by  S.  M.  Chase. 

Delightfully  human  stories  of  every  day  happenings;  of  a 
lecturer's  laughable  experience  because  he's  late,  a  young  woman's 
excursion  into  the  stock  market,  etc. 

OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31.    By  Louise  Forsslund. 

A  heart- warming  story  of  American  rural  life,  telling  of  the 
adventures  of  an  old  couple  :.n  an  old  folk's  home,  their  sunny, 
philosophical  acceptance  of  misfortune  and  ultimate  prosperity. 

THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY.    By  David  Graham  Phillips. 

A  story  that  has  given  all  Europe  as  well  as  all  America  much 
food  for  thought.  A  young  couple  begin  life  in  humble  circum 
stances  and  rise  in  worldly  matters  until  the  husband  is  enormously 
rich — the  wife  in  the  most  aristocratic  European  society — but  at  the 
price  of  their  happiness. 

THE  TRAIL  OF  NINETY- EIGHT.      By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia"  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  descriptions  of  the  stam 
pede  of  gold  seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in 
the  narrative  is  strikingly  original. 

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'•  A  CERTAIN    RICH   MAN.    By  William  Allen  White. 

A  vivid,  startling  portrayal  of  one  man's  financial  greed,  its 

'  wide  spreading  power,  its  action  in  Wall  Street,  and  its  effect  on 
the  three  women  most  intimately  in  his  life.  A  splendid,  enter 
taining  American  novel. 

IN    OUR    TOWN.    By  William  Allen  White.    Illustrated  by  F. 
R.  Gruger  and  W.  Glackens. 

Made  up  of  the  observations  of  a  keen  newspaper  editor, 
involving  the  town  millionaire,  the  smart  set,  the  literary  set,  the 
bohemian  set,  and  many  others.  All  humorously  related  and  sure 
to  hold  the  attention. 

NATHAN  BURKE.    By  Mary  S.  Watts. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious,  backwoods  Ohio  boy  who  rose 
to  prominence.  Everyday  humor  of  American  rustic  life  per 
meates  the  book. 

THE  HIGH    HAND.    By  Jacques  Futrelle.    Illustrated  by  Will 
Grefe. 

A  splendid  story  of  the  political  game,  with  a  son  of  the 
soil  on  the  one  side,  and  a  "kid  glove"  politician  on  the  other. 
A  pretty  girl,  interested  in  both  men,  is  the  chief  figure. 

THE  BACKWOODSMEN.  By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  Illustrated. 
Realistic  stories  of  men  and  women  living  midst  the  savage 
beauty  of  the  wilderness.     Human  nature    at  its  best  and   worst 
is  well  protrayed. 

YELLOWSTONE  NIGHTS.    By  Herbert  Quick. 

A  jolly  company  of  six  artists,  writers  and  other  clever 
folks  take  a  trip  through  the  National  Park,  and  tell  stories  around 
camp  fire  at  night.  Brilliantly  clever  and  original. 

,THE  PROFESSOR'S  MYSTERY.      By    Wells    Hastings   and 
Brian  Hooker.     Illustrated  by  Hanson  Booth. 

A  young  college  professor,  missing  his  steamer  for  Europe, 
has  a  romantic  meeting  with  a  pretty  girl,  escorts  her  home,  and 
is  enveloped  in  a  big  mystery. 

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THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS.    By  Meredith  Nich 
olson.    Illustrated  by  C.  Coles  Phillips  and  Reginald  Birch. 

Seven  suitors  vie  with  each  other  for  the  love  of  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  she  subjects  them  to  a  test  that  is  fnll  of  mystery,  magic 
and  sheer  amusement. 

THE  MAGNET.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland.    Illustrated  by  Clarence 
F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  remarkable  courtship  involving  three  pretty 
girls  on  a  yacht,  a  poet -lover  in  pursuit,  and  a  mix-up  in  the  names 
of  the  girls. 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD.  By  Eugenia  Brooks  Frothingham. 
A  beautiful  young  opera  singer  chooses  professional  success 
instead  of  love,  but  comes  to  a  place  in  life  where  the  call  of  the 
heart  is  stronger  than  worldly  success. 

SCQTTIE  AND  HIS  LADY.     By  Margaret  Morse.    Illustrated 
by  Harold  M.  Brett. 

A  y  jung  girl  whose  affections  have  been  blighted  is  presented 
with  a  Scotch  Collie  to  divert  her  mind,  and  the  roving  adventures 
of  her  pet  lead  the  young  mistress  into  another  romance. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr.    Frontispiece  by  Harri 
son  Fisher. 

A  very  beautiful  romance  of  the  Shetland  Islands,  with  a 
handsome,  strong  willed  hero  and  a  lovely  girl  of  Gaelic  blood  as 
heroire.  A  sequel  to  "Jan  Vedder's  Wife.*' 

JOHN  WARD.  PREACHER.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

The  first  big  success  of  this  much  loved  American  novelist. 
It  is  a  powerful  portrayal  of  a  young  clergyman's  attempt  to  win  his 
beautiful  wife  to  his  own  narrow  creed. 

THE    TRAIL  OF    NINETY-EIGHT.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia  • '  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  pictui  asque  of  the  stampede  of  gold 
seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in  the  narrative 
is  strikingly  original, 

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REALISTIC.  ENGAGING  PICTURES  OF  LIFE 

THE  GARDEN  OF  FATE.  By  Roy  Norton.  Illustrated 

by  Joseph  Clement  Coll. 

The  colorful  romance  of  an  American  girl  in  Morocco,  and. 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  whose  beauty  and  traditions  of  strange 
subtle  happenings  were  closed  to  the  world  by  a  Sultan's  seal. 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP.    By  Henry  Russell  Miller. 

Full  page  vignette  illustrations  by  M.  Leone  Bracket. 

The  story  of  a  tenement  waif  who  rose  by  his  own  ingenuity 

to  the  office  of  mayor  of  his  native  city.    His  experiences 

while  "climbing,"  make  a  most  interesting  example  of  the 

possibilities  of  humar.  nature  to  rise  above  circumstances. 

THE  KEY  TO  YESTERDAY.      By  Charles  Neville 
Buck.     Illustrated  by  R.  Schabelitz. 

Robert  Saxon,  a  prominent  artist,  has  an  accident,  while  in 
Paris,  which  obliterates  his  memory,  and  the  only  clue  he  has 
to  his  former  life  is  a  rusty  key.  What  door  in  Paris  will  it 
unlock  ?  He  must  know  that  before  he  woos  the  girl  he  loves. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
The  danger  trail  is  over  the  snow-smothered  North.    A 
7oung  Chicago  engineer,  who  is  building  a  road  through  the 
Hud&on  Bay  region,  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  is  led  into 
ambush  by  a  young  woman. 

THE  GAY  LORD  WARING.    By  Houghton  Townley, 

Illustrated  by  Will  Grefe. 

A  story  of  the  smart  hunting  set  in  England.  A  gay  young 
lord  wins  in  love  against  his  selfish  and  cowardly  brother  and 
apparently  against  fate  itself. 

BY  INHERITANCE.    By  Octave  Thanet.    Illustrated 

by  Thomas  Fogarty.     Elaborate  wrapper  in  colors. 

A  wealthy  New  England  spinster  with  the  most  elaborate 

plans  for  the  education  of  the  negro  goes  to  visit  her  nephew 

in  Arkansas,  where  she  learns  the  needs  of  the  colored  race 

first  hand  and  begins  to  lose  her  theories. 

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BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  suddenpossession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  rooted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  earthy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels, 
author  of  "Bruvver  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  N. 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi 
tions  of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada. 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no« 
bility  and  courage  of  character,  and  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  knov/. 
THE  MESSAGE.    By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 
C.  Chase. 

A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure* 
Oead  from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a.  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  with  breathless  interest. 
THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.  By  David  M.  Pany.  Illus 
trations  by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  into  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  ir.au  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad 
ventures  but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 
THE  THIRD  DEGREE.    By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur 
Hornblow.     Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  police 
system. 

The  son  of  an  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities  that,  later 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  o£  a  dissipated  life. 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  sense 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT.  By  Brand  AVhitlock. 
A  realistic  western  story  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
of  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraordi 
nary  vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  t.he  passion,  the  tu 
mult  of  the  political  arena,  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 

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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln, 
Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el-i 
derly  bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little' 
girl.    Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 
THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in 
definable  charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By   Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search 
ing  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.    By  Clara  Louise  Bum- 

ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  i?  the  back 
ground  for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  f  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  unckrlying  it  all. 

THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.    By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re 
sort,  where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti 
mate  good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment 
THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn. 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.  The  *tory  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blase  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

HAPPY  HAWKINS.    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.   Illus 

trated  by  Howard  Giles. 

A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.    Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  stort 
With  such  a  tine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration^ 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.  By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.  Illustrated  by  C.  D. 
Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion- 
inent,  and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
Important  question. 
TONO-BUNGAY.    By;  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  works 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  stiV 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  nevef 
crossed.    An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page— Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement 
A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city> 

is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 

hrough  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  woman,  who  seems  at  times  the 

Simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue.    A  baffling 

detective  story. 

LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN.  By  George  Horton.  Illus^ 
trated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
•*  Helen"  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,,  defiant — pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a  certain  new  force  about  the  story,  a  kind  of  master 
craftsmanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 

THE  MASTER  OF  APPLEBY.  By  Francis  Lynde. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in* 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 

A  MODERN  MADONNA.    By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  matemal 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

STEWART    EDWARD  WHITE 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME.  Illustrated  by  Lajaren  A.  Miller 

The  romance  of  the  son  of  u  The  Riverman."  The  young  college 
hero  goes  into  the  lumber  camp,  is  antagonized  by  "graft"  and  comes 
into  the  romance  of  his  life. 
ARIZONA  NIGHTS.  Illus.  and  cover  inlay  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phases  of  the  life 
of  the  ranch,  plain?  and  desert.    A  masterpiece. 
THE  BLAZED   TRAIL.  With  illustiations  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

A  wholesome  story  with  gleams  of  humor,  telling  of  a  young 
man  who  blazed  his  way  to  fortune  through  the  heart  of  the  Mich 
igan  pines. 
THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS.    A  Romance. 

The  tenderfoot  manager  of  a  mine  in  a  lonesome  gulch  of  the 
Black  Hills  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  "wins  out"  in  more  ways  than 
one. 
CONJUROR'S     HOUSE.    Illustrated  Theatrical  Edition. 

Dramatized  under   the     title   of  "The    Call  of    the    North." 

"Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  post  where  the 
head  factor  is  the  absolute  lord.    A  young  fellow  risked  his  life  and 
won  a  bride  on  this  forbidden  land. 
THE  MAGIC   FOREST.    A  Modern  Fairy  Tale.    Illustrated. 

The  sympathetic  way  in  which  the  children  of  the  wild  and 
their  life  is  treated  could  only  belong  to  one  who  is  in  love  with  the 
forest  and  open  air.    Based  on  fact. 
THE  RIVERMAN.    Illus.  by  N.  C.  Wyeth  and  C.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  man's  fight  against  a  river  and  of  a  struggle 
between  honesty  and  grit  on  the  one  side,  and  dishonesty  and 
shrewdness  on  the  other. 
THE  SILENT  PLACES.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin. 

The  wonders  of  the  northern  forests,  the  heights  of  feminine 
devotion,  and  masculine  power,  the  intelligence  of  the  Caucasian 
and  the  instinct  of  the  Indian,  are  all  finely  drawn  in  this  story. 
THE  WESTERNERS. 

A  story  of  the  Black  Hills  that  is  justly  placed  among  the 
best  American  novels.  It  portrays  the  life  of  the  new  West  as  nc 
other  book  has  done  in  recent  vears. 

THE     MYSTERY.  In  collaboration  with  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 
With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

The  disappearance  of  three  successive  crews  from  the  stout 
ship  "Laughing  Lass"  in  mid-Pacific,  is  a  mystery  weird  and  inscrut 
able.  In  the  solution,  there  is  a  story  of  the  most  exciting  voyage 
that  man  ever  undertook. 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


LOUIS  TRACY'S 

CAPTIVATING  AND  EXHILARATING  ROMANCES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

CYNTHIA'S     CHAUFFEUR.  Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandlei 
Christy. 

A  pretty  American  girl  in  London  is  touring  in  a  car  with 
a  chauffeur  whose  identity  puzzles  her.  An  amusing  mystery. 

THE    STOWAWAY    GIRL.     Illustrated  by  Nesbitt  Benson. 

A  shipwreck,  a  lovely  girl  stowaway,  a  rascally  captain,  a 
fascinating  officer,  and  thrilling  adventures  in  South  Seas. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS. 

Love  and  the  salt  sea,  a  helpless  ship  whirled  into  the  hands 
of  cannibals,  desperate  fighting  and  a  tender  romance. 

THE     MESSAGE.    Illustrated  by  Joseph  Cummings  Chase. 

A  bit  of  parchment  found  in  the  figurehead  of  an  old  ves 
sel  tells  of  a  buried  treasure.  A  thrilling  mystery  develops. 

THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT. 

The  pillar  thus  designated  was  a  lighthouse,  and  the  author 
tells  with  exciting  detail  the  terrible  dilemma  of  its  cut-off  in 
habitants. 

THE    WHEEL    O'FORTUNE.     With   illustrations   by  James 
Montgomery  Flagg. 

The  story  deals  with  the  finding  of  a  papyrus  containing 
the  particulars  of  some  of  the  treasures  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

A    SON  OF    THE   IMMORTALS.      Illustrated     by    Howard 
Chandler  Christy. 

A  young  American  is  proclaimed  king  of  a  little  Balkan 
Kingdom,  and  a  pretty  Parisian  art  student  is  the  power  behind 
the  throne. 

THE    WINGS    OF  THE  MORNING. 

A  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe  redivivus  with  modern  settings 
and  a  very  pretty  love  story  added.  The  hero  and  heroine,  are 
the  only  survivors  of  a  wreck,  and  have  many  thrilling  adventures 
on  their  desert  island. 

Ask  for  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

IRVING  BACHELLER 

Full  of  the  real  atmosphere  of  American  home  life. 

THE   HAND-MADE   GENTLEMAN.      With  a   double- 

page  frontispiece. 

The  son  of  a  wash-woman  begins  re-niaking  himself 
socially  and  imparts  his  system  to  his  numerous  friends.  A 
story  of  rural  New  York  with  an  appreciation  of  American 
types  only  possible  from  the  pen  of  a  humor  loving  American. 

PARREL  OF   THE    BLESSED    ISLES.    With  illustra 
tions  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

A  tale  of  the  North  Country.  In  Barrel,  the  clock  tinker, 
wit,  philosopher  and  man  of  mystery,  is  portrayed  a  force  held 
in  fetters  and  covered  with  obscurity,  yet  strong  to  make  its 
way,  and  widely  felt. 

D'RI  AND  I:    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 

with  the  British.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 
»  j)?rj «  wa5  a  mjghty  hunter,  quaint,  rugged,  wise,  truth 
ful.     He  fights  magnificently  on  the  Lawrence,  and  is  a  strik 
ing  figure  in  this  enthusiastic  romance  of  early  America. 

EBEN  HOLDEN;    A  Tale  of  the  North  Country. 

A  story  of  the  hardy  wood-choppers  of  Vermont,  who 
founded  their  homes  in  the  Adirondack  wilderness.  "  Eben," 
the  hero,  is  a  bachelor  with  an  imagination  that  is  a  very 
wilderness  of  oddities. 

SILAS  STRONG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods. 

A  simple  account  of  one  summer  life,  as  it  was  lived  in  a 
part  of  the  Adirondacks.  Silas  Strong  is  a  woodland  philos* 
opher,  and  his  camp  is  the  scene  of  an  impressive  little  love 
story. 

VERGILIUS;    A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ. 

A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman 
Patricians  whose  great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus  leads  them  through  the  momentous,  exciting  even's 
that  marked  the  year  just  preceding  the  birth  of  Christ. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

Skillful  in  plot,    dramatic  in    episode,    powerful  and  original  in  climax. 

MR.  CREWE'S  CAREER.  Illus.  by  A.I.  Keller  and  Kinneys. 

A  New  England  state  is  under  the  political  domination 
,  of  a  railway  and  Mr.  Crewe,  a  millionaire,  seizes  the  moment 
when  the  cause  of  the  people  against  corporation  greed  is 
being  espoused  by  an  ardent  young  attorney,  to  further  his 
own  interest  in  a  political  way,  by  taking  up  this  cause. 

The  daughter  of  the  railway  president,  with  the  sunny 
humor  and  shrewd  common  sense  of  the  New  England  girl, 
plays  no  small  part  in  the  situation  as  well  as  in  the  life  of  the 
young  attorney  who  stands  so  unflinchingly  for  clean  politics. 
THE  CROSSING.  Illus.  by  S.  Adamson  and  L.  Baylis. 

Describing  the  battle  of  Fort  Moultrie  and  the  British 
fleet  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston,  the  blazing  of  the  Kentucky 
wilderness,  the  expedition  of  Clark  and  his  handful  of  daunt 
less  followers  in  Illinois,  the  beginning  of  civilization  along 
the  Ohio  and  Mississippi,  and  the  treasonable  schemes  builded 
against  Washington  and  the  Federal  Government. 
CONISTON.  Illustrated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

A  deft  blending  df  love  and  politics  distinguishes  this 
book.  The  author  has  taken  for  his  hero  a  New  Englander, 
a  crude  man  of  the  tannery,  who  rose  to  political  prominence 
by  his  own  powers,  and  then  surrendered  all  for  the  love  of  a 
woman. 

It  is  a  sermon  on  civic  righteousness,  and  a  love  story  of  a 
deep  motive. 
THE  CELEBRITY.    An  Episode. 

An  inimitable  bit  of  comedy  describing  an  interchange  of 
personalities  between  a  celebrated  author  and  a  bicycle  sales 
man  of  the  most  blatant  type.  The  story  is  adorned  with 
some  character  sketches  more  living  than  pen  work.  It  is  the 
purest,  keenest  fun — no  such  piece  of  humor  has  appeared  for 
years :  it  is  American  to  the  core. 
THE  CRISIS.  Illus.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

A  book  that  presents  the  great  crisis  in  our  national  life 
with  splendid  power  and  with  a  sympathy,  a  sincerity,  and  a 
patriotism  that  are  inspiring.  The  several  scenes  in  the  book 
in  which  Abraham  Lincoln  figures  must  be  read  in  their  en 
tirety  for  they  give  a  picture  of  that  great,  magnetic,  lovable 
man,  which  has  been  drawn  with  evident  affection  and  excep 
tional  success. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26xH  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


lOOm-8,'85  (F6282s8)2373 


PS3531.H5G7  1901 


3  2106  00213  7070 


